Long, savage yells announce the dogs. Leaping down from my position against a mouldy trunk, as I had allowed myself a few moments of respite, I stagger with renewed horror into a hurried run. My chest convulses. My mind rings out in a single tone. And I feel the blood in my ears pulse at a frantic pace. Every few seconds I hear the yelping of the dogs.
They are gaining on me.
Every howl is nearer and nearer, and every moment I expect them to shoot forward from the line of trees and launch themselves heavy on my back— and I imagine their long teeth sinking into my flesh. There seem to be so many of them, and they will tear me to pieces if they catch me.
They will moul me to death.
I gasp for breath— gasp forth a half-uttered, choking prayer to whoever to save me. Tears settle in the corners of my mouth. And I pray to give me the chance to throw my pursuers of my back. The forest around me thickens. Loaded moss creeps over the trunks and I lean my weight against them. My mind is fuzzy with exhaustion and crowds with words I don't know how to speak. Later. All the words will have to wait until later. I breath raggedly, dizzy, and push myself away from one trunk to the next.
In the background, the savage intonations grow louder. Maintaining my course due north, I cross a meagre stream that comes just over my ankles. My chest hurts and my eyes sting. Extreme heat binds my limps. The hounds at that moment are mere moments behind me and terror twists my guts. I can hear them crashing and plunging through the threes, their loud, eager yells making the whole forest clamorous with the sound of it.
My clothes are in tatters, my hands, face, and body covered with scratches, received from the sharp knots of fallen trees, and in climbing over piles of brush and bark. My bare foot is full of thorns. I am besmeared with muck and mud, and on the sole of my foot and the palm of my hands lingers a green slime that collects together with the long, pendent moss on the surface of dead trees.
My heart beats out a steadfast gallop.
The sun is still high, but the canopy thickens, and gradually the great crests shroud my way as if dusk has set in early. Diffused, mild light creeps through the overspreading branches and makes everything look like it is underwater, the bottom of some lake long undisturbed.
I stagger on. My lungs burn. My pulse beats against my eyes, my skin. God, it hurts. The air in my lungs seems all used up, sour, useless. Spots swim in front of my vision. My fear of wild animals is extinguished by the sheer presence of the pursuing hounds. I pray I reach a save harbour soon, but the ache in my limps grows deeper and weary and makes the flight more difficult than ever. A part of me already knows it will be impossible to proceed much farther. But I ignore it.
A cramp shoots up my heel, and I am forced to still. Affright and appalled, I cry out. Not in pain. But in frustration. All the birds, and all the creeping things of the forest appear to have assembled in that particular place, for the sole purpose of filling the canopy with clamour and confusion. And witness my defeat.
I lash out at them in bitterness: "shut up! Shut upshutupSHUT—UP!" the sound twisting into something raw and cracking through my injured throat. I choke, my vision swimming, my heart pounding a terrible rap against my ribs. The few slithers of light are too bright. There are sounds, but I cannot understand them.
One of my knees gives out, then the other. An inhuman noise leaving my throat, I close my eyes and blindly grasp and cling to the branch closest to me. The severed bark cuts into my palm. I look down at my shaking hands.
No— my mind provides. No—I am free, free is good—I am free— free is good. I am free— I am free—free is good.
A horse's far-off whine resounds.
"They've got her. THEY'VE GOT HER!"
A sob escapes me as I hear the words. A languid sense of dread takes over me. I gag. Violently dry heaving, my spine arches, and bulges inwards in aggressive jerks. It hurts. It hurts so much.
"I..." I say, my breath cutting off as I try to continue. I screw up the last remains of my courage and try again, only to fail, squeezing my eyes shut. I dry-heave again. It truly hurts, not being able to say anything. The words sit in the depths of me, pounding out a dull ache. My arms and legs feel heavy with them and each breath stings as I try to draw them in.
Then the dogs arrive.