Ugh..

This is what happens when I sit down and force myself to write. Certainly not my best stuff.. Sounds like I'm trying too hard, ne?

With the smell of blood thick on the air, it was a wonder she managed to escape the dogs that had, until a few minutes before, been snacking on her heels. Luckily for her, it was night, and the men could not see the red that stained the stream. The water, too, saved her in that it deadened the scent of blood, the dogs losing her trail. She did her best to steady her rapid breathing that comes from running six miles from those who'd love to carry her head home on their spears.
The hollow created by the stream running under a tree root proved to be sufficient shelter from the bounty hunters, for in a few minutes she could no longer hear the beying of the hounds or the grunts and snarls of their masters. She waited only a minute more, to be sure, before she crawled into the center of the stream and dared to get to her feet. Her skin looked even grayer in the moonlight, and the blood loss was of no help to that. Gripping her side, where from the blood still flowed due to the spear wound one of the hunters had managed to get in, she stumbled out of the stream and began to run all over again.
The worn-out deer skin boots were of little protection to her feet as she could feel each and every root, stone, and nut she trodded on. She was beginning to regret hiding in the stream as well. November had been cold enough as it was with just thin breeches and a ragged undershirt without them being soaked through. Her long amber hair was soaked as well, sticking uncomfortably to her neck and whipping her back and face whenever she stumbled, which was proving to be often.