Phyllis untied the lean-to door with trembling hands and went inside. Wendell shoved the blonde girl after her. "I'm sorry," he said to the girls. Then he closed the door and tied it. He propped a piece of firewood to secure the section of wall he'd escaped through.
No one else appeared this time as he ran through the encampment, up the hill, and into the forest. He continued to run until he tripped over a root and crashed to the ground. He lay there for a minute, looking up at the green canopy of leaves. A bird circled one of the trees, finally landing in a nest to deliver food to its young ones.
Wendell listened for any sign of pursuit, but heard only the bird's song in the trees. He crawled over to a tree, leaning against its rough bark. He would rest here for a few minutes, until he got his strength up. He couldn't stay too long; those girls had probably told Mr. Pendleton by now. As he closed his eyes, the pungent odor of decaying plants reached his nostrils.
Water seeps into shoes three sizes too big for his feet until he feels as though he's running with two stone slabs on his ankles. His legs ache and his chest burns, but he can't stop. He looks behind him, imagining they're still behind him with their torches, shouting curses and hurling stones.
In the folds of his oversized jacket he feels the half-loaf of bread stolen from the farmhouse along with the clothes. He would have escaped unscathed if not for the mistress of the farmhouse stumbling from the bedroom in a drunken stupor. She sobered up at the sight of him crouching in the corner, wearing dirty rags and clutching the bread and a knife.
He bolted from the house as she screamed. The entire village turned out to track him down. He managed to escape by wiggling through a crack in the door of ancient crypt. There he changed clothes and devoured half the bread, sleeping next to the decomposed body of some old knight. He might have stayed there longer if the gravedigger hadn't spotted him. He narrowly escaped from the villagers a second time.
That was a day ago, but still he feels them nearby, always on the horizon. He's not safe anywhere. No matter where he runs, they'll find him. When they do, they'll string him up for stealing the bread and clothes. His pleas for leniency will not sway them. That he only took the items to survive won't matter. Their lust for his blood must be sated.