My feet pound against the ground, leaving
impressions in the soft dirt but they are not the only feet I hear. The padding
of heavy paws closes in as I speed through the trees. The branches pull and
tear at my shirt like claws, digging into my skin. Before my blood can hit the
ground, creating a light tap on the leaves beneath me, I am fighting my way
through the thick undergrowth several yards away.
The panting of the wolves is close enough for my heart to pick up its
pace. I am not normally afraid of werewolves but I also don’t normally kill off
a pack’s families while the wolves are hunting. Closing in on a cliff, I make a
choice, die or jump. The rocks below will not be forgiving but the wolves will
be even less. As my feet leave the ground, my only thought is ‘This is going to
hurt’.
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