The forest air was thick, stagnant, choked out of any flowing air and sound. All Myer could hear was his own panting, gasping, huffing and puffing- The snapping of leaves and twigs under foot- A echo behind him growing louder, closer. Despite the chill his brow was still sweating, pushing himself to weave between tree trunks and bushes. His gaze was set straight ahead, never turning backwards, avoidant of any possible danger.

It had been no more than a minute and a half of a full sprint as he threw himself deeper and deeper into the forest, gradually setting more space between himself and the camp and its fire. He began to slow, feeling content with the distance, the crunching and leaves and twigs beneath his feet slowing. He took heavy breaths, still facing forwards, ears sharpening to the night around them. The forest had fallen silent; any breeze had fallen dead, the buzz of bugs had gone, no echoes from the forest's depths. He could not hear anything from the camp, perhaps maybe the whisper of a grunt or yell but not much more- 

There were the sounds of crunch leaves and twigs. 

Myer picked up his pace. He forced himself from a shuffle to a walk to a sprint. He once again returned to speed, doing his best to hop over ledges and brush, ducking under branches and misshapen trunks. He felt confidence; confident that he had enough speed, confident that the others would give up, confident that he could run away-

He found his face in the dirt, arms flat against the ground ahead of him. He pushed up and forwards, left foot refusing to move. He flipped himself up and spun onto his side; ankle giving no ground. He pulled his hands down to his foot, frantically shaking and sensing. He found something- Some vine or branch or something he didn’t know he didn’t care he just wanted out. He strangled the muddy tendril snaring him pulling and thrusting and thrashing- He fell still.