I hear hounds barking in the distance. They better not find where I hide. I am not going back to that retched place. Not ever again. The scars on my back say so. They are getting closer. I either have to run for it or trust that the hounds won't smell me. A twig snaps under a foot about ten yards away. I grab a small rock and throw with all my might to the left of where I hide. There is a light thunk, but it is enough. The dogs ears perk up and start sniffing in the direction of my pebble. I throw another small rock in the same direction. I hit a tree. A squirrel darts down the trunk a through the brush. The dogs take on the chase. The dogs owners, which call themselves bounty hunters, chase after the dogs. I make a run for it. I feel a hand grip my wrist and another hand stifle my scream.