Thump. Thump.
She runs, looking at the world ahead, not the world around -- the Swamp is only a blur of green and blue and brown. Someday. Someday she will escape the trees that crowd into her path, someday she will escape the sucking mud that sticks to her hooves, someday she will escape the force that pulls her back to the ground.
Thump. Thump.
She runs as the days pass by, the bright heat and shimmering sunlight of the day giving way to the cool wetness and firefly-glow of the night. Her hooves pound the ground, oppressively humid air rushing through her hair, her too-long bangs blown clear of her eyes.
Thump. Thump.
She runs and she runs and she runs and one day--
Thump.
She is free.
