She ran through the underground tunnels and caverns, relying on instinct and stray shafts of light to keep from falling. If she fell, she died. She knew very little, but that knowledge would not, could not leave her. That knowledge kept her feet pounding on the uneven ground, kept her from looking back to see what chased her.
She only wanted to live.
The path before her diverged. Darker shadows led to right and left, life and death. No way to know which was which or even if one way was better than the other. No time to think or try to find clues.
She went left.
Some part of her mind laughed over half-forgotten allusions to going down the 'sinister' path. Another part gibbered in terror at what was behind her. The greater part, the part she was listening to right now was just concerned with staying ahead, staying upright, staying alive.
Her blood pounded in her head.
She could hear heavy breathing behind her, footsteps just as sure and fast as hers. The echoes made it sound like it was right at her heels and her skin shivered in anticipation of the blow. She could smell her attacker as well, a dark and heavy aroma that enveloped her and tried to distract.
She didn't dare turn around.
Despite her panic and desperation to escape, she had to slow. She was worn down from the chase and the dark was a hindrance. She couldn't be seen, she hoped; but she couldn't see either. In the dark, she felt as if the walls were closing in, as if the footing was uneven and rocky.
She was losing her equilibrium.
Her hand, outstretched to touch the wall and keep her from running in circles, found nothing. She stumbled to a halt. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but light filtered from somewhere, allowing her to see that the walls had receded, leaving a large open area.
She had to make a stand.
She positioned herself in the shadow by the entrance, hoping for the element of surprise. The smell got stronger, and the sound of footsteps got louder. Louder but slower. Her enemy had as much of a survival instinct as she did. A shadow filled the entry way.
She had no real skill or training at fighting, only desperation and a violent yearning to live. Springing out had gained her the upper hand; she had her enemy on the ground, the weapon knocked away. They rolled for a moment, dizzying themselves. When they stopped, she found herself on the bottom, pinned down.
She squirmed her way free.
They faced each other, at an impasse. She blocked her enemy's access to the weapon, but the enemy blocked the door. There was no escape but battle. She kicked and spun, every trick she could think of, but she was tiring rapidly and her enemy was more knowledgeable and more experienced. Inexorably, she was maneuvered away, until the enemy was once again armed.
She tried to block the blow.
The blows to the face stunned her, she was moving slowly now. Her enemy had also taken damage, but her training had taught her how to deal with the pain. The weapon, the stake punctured her hand as she tried to bat it away, penetrating clothes and skin to find the heart.
She cried out once and fell to dust.