The group had cleared eleven miles of forests in the past night. They had started their escape sprinting through the thick brush, running when they could not sprint, walking when they could not run, and finally limping when they could not walk. They had not stopped once since their escape began, nor had they spoken a word in hours. Each had been pushed to their physical limit once and then again throughout the entire night, and the group looked as if they had been worked for a fortnight. They had been running for more of the journey than they had walked, either within sight of the pursuing soldiers or just a hill past them, though they ultimately seemed to have escaped. The soldiers, after all, were motivated by duty, while the prisoners were motivated by fear.
That was when the path had been lit by torchlight and guards were close enough to slash their ankles. They had been full of fear and adrenaline then. Now, they were full of
nothing. They were miles ahead of their pursuers, though this meant they were beginning to feel the effects of their journey and come down from the fight-or-flight rush that had granted them their escape. Each was drenched in sweat, with pains deep into the bones of their shins and faces riddled in bites from gnats, which proved themselves all but invisible at night.
It was now just dawn, and the chill of the night air was slowly beginning to be enveloped by the morning's first rays of sun. On the horizon was their destination -- Nezumi Village. It was unexceptional in terms of use as a hideout, too big to be remote and too small to blend in, though its control by the yakuzai and other criminals meant that they would at least be further away from the Empire. There was that, and in the heat of their escape, the fact that only one member of the group knew a close enough town.
"See? It was practically a midnight ramble through the garden. If we had brought some cakes, it would have been like a long hike, eh?" The guide gestured ahead, chuckling weakly though his panting. He had a crouched over stance, originally only slumping forward from exertion, though he now walked on all fours instead, hopping and pulling himself ahead on his hands bit by bit like an ape. He claimed to have first learned of Nezumi village during his adolescence, smuggling sleepsalt hidden in his mule's feedbag, and it seemed clear to the observer that the town hadn't improved much since. The log wall surrounding the town was covered in inky scrawlings of different gangs claiming ownership of territory, crossed out by different shades of ink by their rivals over and over, in enough layers to cover all of the natural wood. The only bare part of the wall was the gate, which bore the mon of the Tarabagani-Gumi yakuzai family -- Two symmetrical black crabs with interlocking claws, opposite one another. It was not obstructed by graffiti at any of its points, separated by thick gap from the chaotic layers of gang tags like a shark surrounded by schools of fish.
The escapees slowly marched onward, each at the same tired pace, panting and groaning all the while. Behind the group's de facto guide was a slender, white-haired woman, huffing with each step, soldiering onward through gritted teeth. To her side was an older looking man, who seemed more pushed to his limits than any of his companions, who had taken to leaning on a sturdy branch he had picked up to use as a cane for the last few miles. He did not look ahead with the rest of the group, but straight at his feet, gasping with a shaky uncertainty that threatened to topple him at any moment.
Behind him, were two younger, darker featured Tsukihito -- A man in a blue kimono, who seemed more
upset than tired, and a redhaired woman with a much less dour expression than her counterpart. All things considered, though their escape had been hours of torturous running through the darkness, the woman had every right to smile. They had escaped transport to Okinakabe, a salt-mine based prison known for its braggadocios claim that their prisoners were the only in Tsukishima to live unchained, though this was only due to the prison's dangerous subterranean quarters. Few in the group were of the same faith, though it was inarguable that each knew they had escaped
hell. At the end of their group was a young priestess, whose white and cardinal robes now seemed as if they were stained grey and blood red from the hours the woman had spent forcing herself to run. Of the six of them, only she and the white haired woman carried swords.
"Once we're there we," The guide at the front muttered through his gasping. "Can just find a nice, barn or something, to sleep in."
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