The pattern repeated itself over and over again ... running, stumbling, falling, running, stumbling, falling ... The fugitive possessed no other memory ... running, stumbling, falling, running, stumbling, falling ...

Dawn broke once again, and as the din of the baying hounds struck his ears, the fugitive knew it was time to move on. Although his aching muscles and strained eyes pleaded for more rest, some primal instinct for survival urged him on, forcing his wasted legs to crawl and his numb hands to haul himself forward. Musty and damp, the odor of the jungle's undergrowth permeated his nostrils, yet he was indifferent because his sense of smell had long since been dulled. His mouth felt like leather, but the fugitive needed no sensitive palate, for all that his diet consisted of was grubs and beetles. Besides, festering diseases already had taken out his teeth. Closer than ever, the baying of the hounds struck a resounding chord of fear into his heart. His body burned and sweated profusely, but his heart was enclosed in a layer of ice, sending chills of desperation to his stricken mind.

Still his hands groped, and his legs pushed, not daring to cease his futile escape. There was never hope, only a desire to survive until the night and catch a brief rest until the hunt commenced once more. Louder and louder, the barking seemed to leap and bound towards him.

Finally, the feeling that he had imagined and that constantly replayed in his hellish nightmare became reality. The paws pinned him down while the dogs exhaled hot and putrid air onto his ragged body. With agonizing slowness and deliberateness, the hunter's footsteps fell closer. As the hunter approached, the fugitive felt the aura of evil around the predator. The occasional rustling of the undergrowth caused by the footsteps accentuated the reality of the presence. With an intense rage, the fugitive turned around to meet his persecutor.

The hunter levelled his gaze at the prey. "It was a good hunt. I will set you free now," delivered the hunter with a simplicity that was evil itself. The hunter's sable cape swept around as he departed with his hounds surrounding him. The fugitive did not move because his mind was forever petrified by the hunter's face, the very image of his own face. n