It's awkward trying to put your ghostly form inside the contorted form lying on the ground. You squirm and adjust as you try to figure what strange postion you left your arms in (You don't recall putting your hands behind your back). And the angel is impatient. As you settle in it raises the blade higher, clearly to deal a soul crushing blow, but your soul suddenly snaps into place and you open you eyes to the colorful strange forest you left behind.

The angel is gone but you're not alone. A man sits across from you, staring with his arms draped across raised knees. He has long limbs, folded close to his small body, and long blond hair. Leather boots cover his legs over his calves and woolen pants cover the rest. A dingy white shirt can be seen under leather arm guards and some sort of coat with large, brass buttons. A strung bow sits beside him in the dirt and quiver full of arrows is slung across his back. One arrow is held in his hand, it's tip dark red with a shiney liquid.

You cough and move to sit up but find your arms are bound behind you. As you push with your feet you find they are bound as well. Who ties up the person they just killed? you wonder but realize you'll get more answers saying it out loud.

"What the hell?" is how the question comes out and the man quickly springs to his feet. He pounces on top of you and presses his hand against your mouth as he mumbles to himself. You realize your hunter is not a big person, about the size of a ten year old boy, but he's quick and agile. Despite your struggles, he gets a wad of dirty cloth that tastes of beer and sweat into your mouth and ties it in place with an even dirtier strip of cloth. You gag from the taste and pray nothing comes up. The small man flops back to the ground with his eyes still on you. Your shoulders sag as you realize you have no option but to stay put. Only bird songs break the silence between the two of you.

"A 'merican," he says after an extended silence. You nod, wondering what your nationality has to do with anything, and he tenses.
"Up," he demands after a moment. You roll your eyes and kick you bound feet. He scowls, confirming he preferes you bound to standing. "Up," he repeats. You don't bother with body language this time and just stare at him. A deep sigh and sagging shoulders are his response before he pulls a backpack from the bushes and gathers rope from inside. You're tied to the tree and the small man is disappears into the forest. The sun is disappearing below the horizon and in the distance a wolf howls.

They're hungry wolves.