Or, perhaps, not alone. The wind gusted, leaves rustling along the pathway. Above the tree tops bowed in obeisance to the intermittent breeze. The smell of rain was in the air. And a sulfurous smell. One he had noted to often before.
He sensed, rather than saw, the unseen companion. In anger he raised his bow, but could not decide where to dispatch the arrow. With a shrug he lowered it, returned the arrow to its pouch.
"In due time I will succeed. I must!" he breathed.
He felt tired. He had labored mightily through the twelve tasks. Rest was delayed for their completion. And now a further task lay on him.
For a moment he leaned against the trunk of a tall pine, his eyes closed. His arms ached, his back and neck, and his felt the need to lie down, to rest.
But he dare not! Somewhere, waiting, his nemesis. And when and how he might strike he knew not.
He trudged disconsolately along the mountain path. In the distance the howl of a wolf broke the silence. The quivering wail was answered quickly from neighboring hills. The pack was assembling for some nightly raid. A dust devil traveled a crooked path on the trail ahead, ended with leaves falling on the floor. A deer stopped at the edge of the trail, sniffed at the air, then retreated.
Demo moved cautiously forward, each step a chore. Strong though he was his energy seemed to be waning. Startled, he remained motionless. This is not right, he thought. I have gone days without rest, and still felt stronger than today. Am I ill, have I eaten something that has weakened me.
He felt a vertigo, nearly stumbled. He shuffled forward, each foot scuffing along the pathway.
As Demo proceeded he noted a shadow on his path. The sitting sun limned the figure of a young girl sitting on a log by the path, rubbing her ankle. Plainly she was suffering, and with the approaching night, in dire circumstances. Exhausted though he was, he could not ignore her plight.