The two sped through the darkness. The wolf pursued purposefully. The runner ran blindly.
Beyond exhaustion, unsure of how his legs still moved, the runner chanced a look back. He despaired at the doggedness of his pursuer. With nothing else to do, he pressed on.
Until even his survival instinct gave way. Splotches of light twinkled before his eyes. He knew that if he kept running forward he would die. He knew if he stopped he would die.
The wolf chomped down on his other leg. Fangs sunk into his other ankle. The pain renewed his vigor, forced his mind forward. He must die, he knew he no longer had a choice there, but he did not want to die by fang.
So he ran.
Towards the splotches of light, towards death, the runner ran.