The barking of the dogs thunders in my ears, their breaths always a step away from my neck—terribly fragile, exquisitely soft. Massive, the trunks of the oaks flash past me so quickly they turn into indistinct smears of color, and their branches are like harpoons, ready to snatch me, tear my skin, slow my desperate race. But when adrenaline is at its peak, not even the deepest cut can distract from the goal: survival. To stay alive, no matter how wounded and battered by the end. The most important thing is to have a heart that still beats beneath the skin.
“Catch her!” a familiar, hoarse voice bellows, rising above the wild barks of his dogs. “Don’t let her escape! Not this time!” His words bring back memories of the countless nights spent running from that man’s rifle, and a déjà vu cracks through the sense of invincibility born from the adrenaline, instilling a burning panic that spreads through my lungs like drops of dark ink. My vision of the future darkens, and hope wavers.
I realize that if I don’t die tonight, it will happen another night. And if it doesn’t, the hunt will never end. It’s my life he wants, and he’s in no hurry to claim it. He can wait. He knows well that his determination won’t waver, while mine is already close to snapping in two. My knees might give out, my lungs might collapse. The tenacity that has kept me going until now might soon be gone, leaving only a weakened, miserable body at the mercy of the hounds’ jaws.
If I die, it’d be my fault. I am allowing panic to infect me, to suppress all reason, to exhaust my body and drain my energy. I’m letting it convince me to surrender to the enemy, and in the end, it won’t be the dogs’ teeth or the lead pellet that kills me, but fear itself.
I can’t allow it.
A new sensation breaks through the panic and instinct—duty. The eyes of those I have a duty to protect chase away every memory of the past nights, bringing with them a fresh source of energy that courses through my bones and revitalizes every muscle. My limbs leap from the path to mossy stones, skirting the road along unexplored trails. I sense the dogs’ paws growing more clumsy, and the echo of their frustrated barks makes the oak leaves quiver, but I don’t dare look back. Mind and body think only of the goal, nothing else deserves my attention—not the hounds’ nearness nor the direction the shotgun is aimed.
The wind slaps me forcefully, and my eyes can no longer stay open. But when I’m close, I feel it clearly. The warmth of relief finds its way to my nostrils, accompanied by familiar scents. Suddenly, I feel nothing: the terrible stabbing pains burning my body vanish in a gust of wind, the breathlessness oppressing my lungs seems as light as a feather, the rage of the dogs and that terrifying man no longer holding any power.
I leap, so effortlessly it surprises even me, and in an instant, I am completely safe. The cold arms of the earth, scented with moss and mushrooms, cradle me and my pups—their fur as red as mine—in a tight, vigorous embrace, through which neither dogs nor men can ever break through.