The pounding of both hearts and footsteps. 

The thudding as their feet hit the forest floor. 

The sound of dogs.

They rushed through the woods, tree branches scratching at their bodies.

Exiting the forest, they never stopped running. Not even for a second. They didn’t have time.

The blazing sun scorched their backs as they stumbled down a hill, which gave way to a meadow of wildflowers.

“Just there,” said the boy, pointing up ahead.

“Are they expecting us?” inquired the girl.

“No,” replied the boy.

They fought through the brush and bramble.

“Then how do we know if they’ll invite us in?” the girl questioned.

“This is their job,” answered the boy.

The sticks and rocks on the ground tore up their feet, and their hands had been cut by swatting through the flowers and leaves.

They finally knew they were through the field when they felt water at their feet.

Leaning down, they scooped up a handful of mud and spread it along their arms and legs.

They continued on.

Sprinting along the grass, the boy and girl came to a red barn and a white farmhouse. They looked to the house and saw a lit candle in the windowsill.

The girl ran to the laundry line and stole a quilt.

Sliding open the rusting barn door and then closing it again, they climbed up the wooden ladder to the loft. Resting on some bales of hay, out of view of the barn door, they were still on edge. They were reluctant to go to sleep, no matter how weary their bodies were. But the lull of sleep consumed them, and their eyes closed, not to waken for a few hours, or until someone came for them.