Runa // Wanderer // FIN

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Runa

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Eighteen

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Wanderer District 4

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Straight

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Female

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Odair

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Runa finds herself, running in her shoes which are falling apart at the soles. Her feet burn from the blisters but that does not stop her. Her feet continue to pound, thought bruised and bloody, against the forest floor as she runs. Running is in her nature, a deep instinct anchored in her that keeps her alive, just like a heart or a brain; running is in her blood and that is all she knows. She has been running as long as she can remember.
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Which, in reality, is not as long as it should be. There was a point where she was born, somewhere far away with long golden sands and the ocean lapping at its coast, she must of had a family, she believes she had a sister too; but that had all been lost to her since the day she woke up on a beach, gritty sand between her fingernails and salt water filling her lungs, 2 years ago. It is from that moment, she remembers clearly but anything much before that can only be assumed. Peiced together from her dreams.
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Dreams that could be fantasy, in truth she is not sure what is real and what is not most of these days. She has often dreamt of sailing boats, a great ocean and swelling waves, a crash of thunder and suddenly a tumble of water, tossing her about like she were in a washer. That is a nightmare, she knows that much, but she believes it is a memory; lost to her currently and only accessible during sleep.
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The world she lives in now is a nightmare, and she wonders if one day she’ll wake up in the little house by the sea she dreams of often. With the woman with a kind face and bright smile, the white curtains that blew in the wind and sound of children laughter. She hopes she will wake up there, she does not dream of the house often but when she does she always wakes wishing that she could just sleep a little longer. Live in the fantasy forever.
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But she always wakes up. Then she has to keep on running.
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She felt like an alien, as if she were on a different planet, looking up at a strange sky and distant stars. The forest, which grew around her wild and free, towering trees of oak and conifers, was bizarre and frightening. She remembered the moment she had looked into between the tangle of branches, bright and beautiful flowers, full of mystery and danger. At first, the sensation excited her but now she was afraid.
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She had been afraid before. She had felt fearful in a dream, so very long ago. Nights after she had washed up on the beach, she had a dream. It was fleeting, distant yet brief. Perhaps a memory, perhaps not. She was screaming, crying, her lungs filling with air for the very first time. The world was bright, shining and fracturing; then it all came into focus. People stared at her, concerned faces and their brows pushed together. Blood. Their hands. Thick with blood. Not hers, someone elses. A name lost but the connection was still strong; she woke up crying, the dream was sad.
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Fear came in many shapes and forms for the girl, who’s name had escaped her after being woken on the beach by lapping waves, but no more than those who hunt her. She is unsure if she is being chased, if any of it real, but that does not stop her running as fast as she could through the forest; never looking over her shoulder, afraid of what she might see there. A face in the dark, a movement in the shadows, a laughter in the silence.
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When she does come across another, people like her except taller and older than she is, with different shades of hair and skin and eyes, and sometimes they ask why she is afraid of Ripred catching up to her- she simply replies with the honest truth.
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“I am not afraid of Ripred. I am afraid of man.”