Normally, she would have been bold, curiosity would have gotten the best of her, and she would have cast a glance over her shoulder to capture a glimpse of her pursuer. Lennon was not feeling brave though, and her only focal point was her feet and how fast they could express her forward.
Her heart slammed against her chest cavity so hard that the only noise she could hear was its staccato beating. She wondered if she should stop; wondered if she were still being chased. After all, she no longer heard snorting or footfalls behind her. But she refused to take a chance and continued to run.
Then it appeared, a hundred yards in front of her: a break in the underbrush, bleeding with sunlight and salvation. One last adrenaline rush propelled Lennon through the opening.
