Thane was running. He didn't think about where he was running to or what he would do when he got there, but he knew he couldn't stop. He couldn't even think about why he was running. Yet at the same time, it was the only thing he was thinking about. He was afraid that giving too much attention to anything, especially that, would slow him down. So as soon as any thought or image entered his head, he would focus on the present until it was drowned in the depths of his conscious.

It was one of the darkest nights Thane had ever seen and the stars pierced through the cover so vividly that he felt as though he was being watch. The sounds of the tall grass being crushed under his boots and snapping out of the way of his strides, along with the heaves of his toiled lungs, were the only indicators that the world was still alive. Other than that, all was still. The town was so far behind him that even the haze from its lights was almost invisible.

He was no where near ready to stop. He would run to the coast, dive into the ocean, and swim to England if only he'd remembered a change of clothes. He was ready to leave this place forever and forget everything that had ever happened here. His body, however, was not along with him for the journey. For it, just like any body belonging to any animal, had limitations. He had already run at least two and a half miles and his legs were giving out more and more with each thunderous tramp. His towering height was teetering at the waste and as his foot met a knot in the ground, he toppled over so tremedously that he tumbled for another five feet.

He didn't bother lifting himself. He felt no point in it. Instead he just lay there, mouth half open, layering his tongue in dirt. He could see Maria hanging there in their room. He hadn't cut her down, hadn't called the police, hadn't done a damn thing but run for the door before he could start taking in the fact that his wife was dead. Noticing that he was about to accept that fact, he sprung from the ground and began running again.