Her breath seemed unnaturally loud in her ears, and she her horse was gasping for air as it galloped,
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thomas sabo Armkette, they only took over after sunrise,
true religion brand jeans, and by the position of the sun it was only mid-morning.
She glanced back at her pursuers, and then turned back to face the forest, still miles ahead. If she made it,
tory burch flat, it would be possible to escape, hide,
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The morning dragged on, and the girl wilted slowly, ever so slowly, in her saddle. The sun burned down, and baked the riders,
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Then hope died.
The horse went down.
Thrown from the saddle, the girl struggled painfully to her feet, blood seeping through her pant leg as the monstrous wound on her upper thigh reopened.
"Shit,
chuck converse," she managed to gasp out as she realized what the moisture was dripping down her leg. "At least the others haven't reopened."
Thinking about her near-impossible chances of survival would just delay her, and cause her to die (she had no doubt), so she just limped back to her floundered horse to collect her sword from the saddle horn. Already running as she strapped the sword belt around her waist, she set her sights on the steadily growing trees.
Ka-thump, KA-THUMP, KA-THUMP! The pursuers were getting closer.
Her breathing growing hoarse in her ears, she half sprinted, half limped towards the welcome protection of the forest.
The hoof beats sounded like they were right on top of her, but she didn't look back to see, knowing that this would just slow her down.
Silently she prayed.
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