Shadowwalker - Under Review For Now

1. Run

Run.
That's what they told, no- ordered her to do. They held the weapons, She held nothing.
She was a mere slip of a girl, but they had no clue who she was, or anything about her, except that she was unarmed and no match for them. An easy chase to help work up an appetite, right?
But they hadn't expected her to be fast.
She ran like the wind, as though the devil him- or her -self was after her, leaving the three men behind in almost a cloud of dust.
Their laughter died in their throats, their mouths twisting into cruel snarls to match their cold eyes.

"After her, you fools! She has seen us. She must not get away!" The middle one grimaced as the other two obediently followed his command.
Meanwhile, the girl had not stopped running. She turned left, right, straight on, blindly running through dangerous territories, her every instinct screaming at her to just keep running, don't stop. She was a lamb, hunted by hungry wolves.

By now she was panting, her ragged breath barely keeping the stitches in her sides at bay and each breath creating a small cloud in the fresh autumn air. She turned into a side street and stopped in her tracks. Dead end. The three walls seemed to be mocking her. She stood still for a moment and struggled to regain her breath, before taking a running start at the wall- and jumped.

She scrambled for purchase during those few precious seconds in the air, until her hands and feet managed to find cracks in the mortar which were large enough to hold her.
She froze, checking to see if she would fall back down. But luckily, the crumbling brick and ivy held firm. She pried her cold fingers from the rocks, sharp edges grazing into soft hands, and she clambered on top of the wall. At an estimated height of 10 feet, she paused, hesitating for a moment.
Suddenly, she could hear shouting.

"After her!"
"This way lads!"
"That's a dead end, we've got her now!"

She jumped, landing awkwardly. Pain erupted in her knee and she could feel her warm blood slowly seeping into fabric. She shuddered. The palms of her hands were grazed, dirt and gravel caked into them, but time to worry about that there was not.
Instead, she got up, quickly brushed her hands against each other as to get the worst off and winched at the pain. She continued, but unlike her mad dash from before, this time in a slow yet steady jog.

Finally, after what seemed hours but was probably only half of one, she reached the harbour.
She snuck into what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. If she tried sneaking into her room at The Dirty Rag in a state such as which she found herself, Loveday would do worse than murder her.
The young woman then took several moments to look after her bloody knee. She gently removed her loose trousers, and winched.

The wound, although not very deep, was bloody- and, somehow, it was also slightly muddy. Flinching at the pain, she carefully washed the wound with some clean water from her leather water bottle, biting her tongue so that she wouldn't make a sound. Next, she wrapped a clean bandage around her knee.
Finally, once she had also tended to her hands, she found herself a familiar box of soft scraps of cloth, and curled up inside. There, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.