He was so tired of running. So very tired.
It wasn’t like he’d had a choice in the matter.
(There’s always a choice.)
Neal didn’t slump against the wall, but he dearly wished he could. He only had a moment to rest before he had to start moving again.
(He just wanted to rest.)
Why should he have to run?
Why couldn’t they just understand?
(Why couldn’t he go home?)
(You can’t always go home.)
(He should have remembered that.)
Behind him, a twig snapped.
Breathing In 