I ran.

Ran for my life.

They were close. They were after me.

I didn't even feel my lefs moving as I gripped the shoulder straps of my bag. It was all I had left.

My eyes had long ago adjusted to the dim moonlight of the tall-grassed praire. My hands were cut from thistles and throns on plants as I shoved them away from my face, the stalks beding back only to bounce back into place.

I heard a low, distinctive growl behind me.

'A hundred and fifty degress precisely,' I tell my self.

My knees collapsed and I sat crouching on the ground, fingertips lightly resting on the righ, fertile soil, not daring to take a single breath.

-------------

Yup. A little drabble. Not exactly a hundred words, but whatever. 

Oh, so you frown upon me for not making my drabble contain precisely 100 words?

Well then.