Hail and rain fell heavily on the pavement, the cold wind shook pine trees like ocean waves, and dark clouds blocked what little light there was. A 12-year-old kid sprits through the forest in an absolute panic, their bare feet kicking up dirt and moss off the forest floor. They duck and swerve past sharp branches and thorny bushes, their adrenaline and fear causing them to ignore any cuts they gain. Their eyes hardly being able to see in the storming darkness, they slip on a wet root, smashing into the muddy ground, getting dark mud all over their bright orange jumpsuit. Leaves and mud dance around in their messy hair as the wind pushes them down. Frantically, they pull themselves up and continue running deeper and deeper into the forest. Fearing that if they were to stop for even a moment they would be caught and trapped once more. However, the only thing following this child was the sound of their own footsteps. No one knew that they had run off, the only one who could have was unconscious and concussed in the front of a box truck crashed on the side of the road. It had crushed in an attempt to not hit a wolf that had appeared on the road, but due to the storming weather, the box truck had swerved more than intended. And the child knew this, they knew no one would be coming for awhile and they knew that the driver most likely needed help. They wanted to help, but they could not. They had to run. They needed to run. To get away into this forest they had never been in, in weather, they had not seen in a long time, and to nowhere with no one. They had no plan and no idea where to go, all they had was fear. Fear of retaliation. A fear that had been growing in them since they were small. A fear that drove them to leave everything they had ever known. It may not have been their fault, or even within their capabilities, but that had not stopped the blame from being placed on them before. So, they ran into the night with only the clothes on their back and their fear driving them.