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Symestreem returned with her cloak. As she opened the door, the old fear hit her.
People. They were everywhere. The room was full of them.
Her legs seized control of her and she turned, stumbling as she ran. The wet cloak tripped her up and she fell on her face. Fire lanced through her forehead, and blood from a gash dripped into her eye. She picked herself up and ran.
I have to get away. I have to get away. Must get away. She felt hunted like she had so many times before. The cloak tripped her up again, and she dropped it. She was still running, blinded by her fear. Her legs burned, and her breath rattled in her chest. She had to keep running. Away, always away.
She tripped over a tree root and fell again. The air was knocked out of her like someone had punched her with a giant fist. The blood on her face mixed with dirt to make a grotesque mud that stung like strong brandy. She rubbed her eyes clear and looked around. No one was after her. At least for now... Could she get far enough away by nightfall? Could she ever get far enough away?
She got up and kept running, ignoring the stitch in her side and the pain in her leg.
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