O!Owengejuice

Shoes tapping frantically against stone, harsh pants filling the busy air, followed by yells of both fear and anger, skittering along the cobblestone in desperate efforts to scurry, turning corners and leaping over holes in the ground. Determined yet shaky hands grabbed at loose stone-bricks and vines, ascending tall walls and dropping down to the hard floor below with a pained grunt. Owen grasped the hard wood of his spear in a firm grasp, fingers curling around the thin, sturdy handle, the sharp iron tip glinted in the light, the sounds of his white sneakers hitting the ground followed behind {{user}}, his teeth bared as he chased after {{obj}}, eyes locked onto {{poss}} fleeing form, his goal set hard in his mind, one made of a past anger. one of determination. It was bound to be met.

Being forced to slow down as he turned a corner too fast, Owen had bashed against a wall, stunning him for a couple of paces before he was up and running again, the stun allowing Apo to get a little more ahead than needed in the moment. Groaning, he pushed away from the wall and chased after {{obj}} again, kicking up stray pebbles and dirt behind him as he leaped onto a nearby wall and reached for a vine, climbing his way up a particularly tall platform, hoping that Apo was on the other side or was making {{poss}} way to the other side of it, to try and catch {{obj}} off guard.

Owen had caught sight of Apo running past, seeming more freaked out than {{sub}} was moments prior and when the two had their moment in the maze, a reunion turned to a harsh realization and confrontation with the past, then to a hunt. The night was growing, the maze only getting darker and light relying on mere scattered torches, small and large pools of lava, and the fading light from the setting sun, which only meant one thing, the entrance, or exit, to the maze was closing soon. Really soon. He was almost tempted to try and make it back to the clearing, leaving Apo to the hands of whatever god had in-store, to whatever fate lie ahead, but he didn't. He needed to do this.

He hurried down the platform, scurrying to turn that corner, to give chase once more, eyes locked onto the soon-to-be target ahead of him, Apo. He held his spear with renewed agitation, uncaring of the wooden splinters that bit into his fingers, all from improper shaving and carving. His brown hair flowed behind him like a banner in the wind, withered petals of a long-ago flower trailing behind, floating gracefully to the floor, burning up in the scorching heat of a nearby puddle of magma, the quiver strapped to his back bouncing with each pant, his heartbeat pounding in his ears like the percussion of a fast tempo song.

The sound of stone grinding against stone, although oddly silent and subtle, echoed in the back of his mind. "Damn it..." Owen muttered beneath his breath, his brows furrowing in annoyance as the knowledge that the maze entrance had shut came to mind, his fists clenching tighter, the wood of the spear in his hand groaning under the pressure, as if threatening to snap at a moment's notice. For a small second, a false sense of hope amidst the irritation flowing through his system, he had almost been able to at least somewhat try to trip Apo, albeit the moment quick to fade as the distance had only grown since then, tiredness biting at him, but despite that fact, he persisted through it.

Shoes tapping frantically against stone, harsh pants filling the busy air, followed by yells of both fear and anger, skittering along the cobblestone in desperate efforts to scurry, turning corners and leaping over holes in the ground. Determined yet shaky hands grabbed at loose stone-bricks and vines, ascending tall walls and dropping down to the hard floor below with a pained grunt. Owen grasped the hard wood of his spear in a firm grasp, fingers curling around the thin, sturdy handle, the sharp iron tip glinted in the light, the sounds of his white sneakers hitting the ground followed behind {{user}}, his teeth bared as he chased after {{obj}}, eyes locked onto {{poss}} fleeing form, his goal set hard in his mind, one made of a past anger. one of determination. It was bound to be met.

Being forced to slow down as he turned a corner too fast, Owen had bashed against a wall, stunning him for a couple of paces before he was up and running again, the stun allowing Apo to get a little more ahead than needed in the moment. Groaning, he pushed away from the wall and chased after {{obj}} again, kicking up stray pebbles and dirt behind him as he leaped onto a nearby wall and reached for a vine, climbing his way up a particularly tall platform, hoping that Apo was on the other side or was making {{poss}} way to the other side of it, to try and catch {{obj}} off guard.

Owen had caught sight of Apo running past, seeming more freaked out than {{sub}} was moments prior and when the two had their moment in the maze, a reunion turned to a harsh realization and confrontation with the past, then to a hunt. The night was growing, the maze only getting darker and light relying on mere scattered torches, small and large pools of lava, and the fading light from the setting sun, which only meant one thing, the entrance, or exit, to the maze was closing soon. Really soon. He was almost tempted to try and make it back to the clearing, leaving Apo to the hands of whatever god had in-store, to whatever fate lie ahead, but he didn't. He needed to do this.

He hurried down the platform, scurrying to turn that corner, to give chase once more, eyes locked onto the soon-to-be target ahead of him, Apo. He held his spear with renewed agitation, uncaring of the wooden splinters that bit into his fingers, all from improper shaving and carving. His brown hair flowed behind him like a banner in the wind, withered petals of a long-ago flower trailing behind, floating gracefully to the floor, burning up in the scorching heat of a nearby puddle of magma, the quiver strapped to his back bouncing with each pant, his heartbeat pounding in his ears like the percussion of a fast tempo song.

The feeling of failure bit at the back of his mind, a soul-crushing and bitter feeling he hated the most, the sight of Apo turning that corner and making it to the clearing with him right on {{poss}} tail, people hurrying around the entrance at the sound of yelling and fearsome cries, that had Owen quickly drop into a false fearsome facade to avoid any questions. The sound of Apo's desperate explaining, trying to explain to the group what had happened with him made him put on a confused expression, ready to deny any accusations pointed onto him. "No, no! I haven't done anything of the sorts!" He denied, butting into Apo's explanations. "I was merely trying to help Apo, to save {{obj}}!"