Each step is precise, each movement fluid, and every sense awake, ready. The hunter is alive, adrenaline coursing through his blood. Rustling leaves scream his prey’s hiding place. His body moves without thought, instincts becoming all that he knows. The hunted recognizes this rhythm of feet pounding the ground, knows it better than his own heartbeat. It’s whats kept him up for two days escaping death again and again. Leaping from the tree, the man almost stumbles, before lurching forward into the jungle. The hunted knows it’s his speed thats saved him so far, but he can feel the weariness in his limbs, dragging him down, begging for a break. Each vine threatens to twist his ankle, every low branch throws him off balance, and he feels terror
