His lungs burned as he ran, panting, through the deciduous forest. It was the middle of November and the trees had begun to shed their leaves. The ground was littered with them and they crunched with a roar while the undergrowth was a mass of knotty roots that tripped him as he ran. He didn’t dare look behind him so he kept running; willing himself to go faster - pushing through the sting of the barren branches that whipped him. He knew he was making a lot of noise but speed was more important than silence at this point. His life depended on it.
With no memory of how he got there (all he remembered was waking up to red eyes), he shook his head trying to clear his thinking. They must have drugged him, he concluded. If they hadn’t squabbled over who would get to eat him first, he might not have gotten away. The sun was due to rise in a couple of hours but that still gave them plenty of time to catch him. He sprinted forward but his legs burned with fatigue and he could barely breathe.
The crescent moon didn’t provide enough light to judge in which direction he was headed. “God, if you get me out of this, I promise I’ll be a better person! Just please help me!” he prayed as he slowed down trying to determine which way to go. The sound of a cracking twig renewed his fear. He pushed blindly through some bushes and slipped down a ravine, flailing and grasping at whatever he could get a hold of. But he only got a hold of loose roots and earth on his way down and he landed in a heap bruised and bleeding.