[i]Ash is running. She is running with ruined sneakers, through dark and narrow streets filled with refuse. There is a shard of glass stuck in the bottom of the shoe that jabs at her foot every time she takes a step, but she’s still running. It hurts, of course, but so do the bruises over her body, the stomach that’s never really full. She’s in her pajamas. She escaped. She won’t be missed, not in any way that matters.
Her lungs are collapsing, her sides have stitches. The rubber sole of her shoe falls loose, catches upon the ground, and she stumbles, falling flat. More pain. More scratches. More reminders.

There is someone standing before her, the moonlight casting a shadow over them. They speak in a kind tone, and they offer a kind hand.[/i]

[hr]
Where was she? Ash had ran without direction. Her fear of death had overcome any loyalty that she had. She had left her bow and machete behind. Well, not that it really mattered. In her rush, her quiver had emptied itself along the way. Not a single arrow remained. For a hunter, it was painful. Though, she did still possess the sword. She had been running for some time, the rain unrelentingly pelting down on her.

Ash was no longer running. No, she couldn't. Her ankle had collided squarely upon a stray root, causing her to slam into the ground. On the way down, the sword she had taken cut into her leg. Not enough to wound or cause further problems, but enough to open a hole in her pants and draw blood. She didn't scream. No, she was too tired. A scream wouldn't have mattered, anyways. There was nobody to help. There wasn't a single soul within the forest. The drops of rain sent the insects, rabbits, deer, and mice to the safe confines of what they could call home. The predators followed suit, knowing there was nothing out.

But Ash remained in the rain.

There wasn't much reason to stop. Her ankle hurt. Would she even be able to run if something happened? Probably not. She would have to just carry on. Using the sword she had taken as support, she got back up and took a slow step. The sword easily dug into the muddy ground, causing her ankle to surge with a severe pain. She landed on her side once more. This time, she was lucky. She didn't fall on the sword. Baby steps. She grabbed a thick branch that had fallen off of a nearby tree. Using that as support instead, she was able to stand. With one foot in front of the other, she pressed onward.

Onward to the home she didn't have.