Between the impenetrable forest of black, a figure in red was scampering between the trees. Her entire body was soaking wet with the itching, salty water of the Dead Sea. Her hair was loose and stringy, dripping around her shoulders and down her back. Blood was splattered across her face and chest, some leaking from deep gashes in her skin, giving her an all around frightful look.
She was gasping for breath, her whole figure trembling in pain. Bentley was in no state to run like this, but she ran anyway. After all, what else could she do? Where else could she go? There was only one path: forward. Even if the thorny shrubs tore at her legs and the dry air caused her lungs to bleed. Running was only thing she could do.
Until a white figure came hurling into her, knocking her backwards down the slope of the hill.