The chase (o5)

It was when the rabid wolves stopped their scratching; then the real fear set in. When i felt there eyes no longer penatrating my back, and i knew i was free from their range of scent. It was then my bones began to crack and grind, crumbled into powder, and blown into dunes, that blocked that necessary light. And my movements lacked flow and rhythm; jelly like i staggered, from A to B, to C to Z. So i decided to taunt the bastards again, wave the meat of my freedom under their noses. Knowing that this chase is the only thing that keeps me going. Jonathan Butcher