s**t. I know I can't just pop out and say sorry, made a mistake, I give up. He won't give a s**t, and he won't let me walk away. None of them would.
Islide down the tree, the rough bark catching against my clothes as I hit the hard ground. My legs tremble from exhaustion, and my fingers are freezing. I hate this so much. I'd much rather be in my bed, cuddled in with a cup of tea and a book.
Who thinks this sort of thing is fun?
Iwrap my arms around my knees and listen to the darkness, trying to pinpoint where he is. It's been quiet for a couple of minutes, but I don't trust it.
Up ahead, a woman comes crashing through some small trees, pushing off anything she can find to try to get some distance between her and her pursuer. A man appears only a couple of minutes later, following close
