Moonspear I don't play if I can't win.

Alas, if it was not one black beast out for blood it was another. The roar rivaled that of the helicopter which had grabbed him; he thought it had certainly returned and in a moment of panic, looked skyward, the whites of his eyes catching the light. There was a stampede sweeping down the mountain towards him which thundered concurrent to the bestial sound. Blitz had always been fleet of foot, spinning and launching himself from the edge of the crevasse in the manner of a routed fox. He looked akin to one — more brown and cream and ultimately too autumnal for such a comparison, but in build and finesse, it fit perfectly.

He crossed the line in moments and did not know of it, stumbling out of his haphazard, coltish sprint as a growth of interlocking trees forbade him passage. The boy was immediately corralled. At the very least he was outside the limits which the sweeping shadow patrolled (just barely - would it be enough?). Now he truly felt the burn inside of him; searing him to cinders, so it felt, and he gasped and wheeled about beside the trees, snorting, coughing, spittle hanging from his chin.

Blitzkrieg set his wild eyes upon the fearsome creature tailing him and dropped to his belly (more from sheer exhaustion than anything) and while his sides heaved he choked out the words, S-s-stop pl-pleas-s-e, I can't-- I --- world is -- ending, I can't run, can't go -- f, fast 'nuff.