Her feet slip. They have found her again.
She tastes despair. They would never have lost her forever, but this is the shattering of one more hope, built so tenuously and linked with her self. It is her fault, her noise and smell, that attracts them.
They lope easily beside her, and seem to taunt her with their half-truths.
We are many.
We are endless.
We are destruction.
We will catch you.
The rains pour steadily on, and she can do nothing but run.
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