Things move through the night slowly. It is dark, darker down here than up there ever was. The tree branches cut the moon into slivers. I find it best to keep my eyes on the ground, if I look too long at the sky the ground blackens. The cold air rips the lining from my throat. I hear only the beating behind my ears and the tonnage of my breathing. Morning can’t be far away, and with the light, their pursuit will strengthen. Keep moving. All I can do is keep moving. There is no time to think about the where and why.