She comes around the side of the hill, feet crunching against rocks, sending them skittering down the incline. Rocks or bones? part of her wonders, but most of her is engaged with slipping and sliding across the rough ground, aiming for the large, blocky monoliths at the bottom.
Her path careers crazily, and once or twice she falls, catching herself with a battered hand. She can hear her own breathing, short and desperate. But louder than are the low growling breaths of a beast she hears but does not see.
What are you? something in her asks, even as she races ever downward, torn edges of her blouse flapping in the wind. Blue shadows dance in front of her, and she can practically feel hot breath on her neck, claws reaching for her throat.
She does not cry. She does not scream. She only runs.
She only feels a little bit scared.
Madly she runs, until she reaches the bottom of the stony hill, and realises the only sound she can hear is that of her own ragged breathing. Is it gone? Is she safe? Just to be prepared, she scoops up the dirt, rubs it over her bloodied cheek to cover up the scent. It's disgusting, but she doesn't think about that.
Instead she ducks behind one of the great stones, the black marbled surface cold against her back. The world around her is silent, and she thinks maybe she's safe.
So she lets herself look up, and what she sees makes her breath catch in her throat.
The sky. It's big, and blue, and stars--stars she's never seen before--like diamonds, and the whisper of a planet, or maybe a moon. The winds bring the stars close, so close she could reach up and touch them.
(As she stares, they're reflected in her eyes.)
She brings herself back down to earth, steadies her breathing. For now, it doesn't matter that she could be thousands of light years away from Earth, or that a hellhound is on her trail, or that she's utterly alone.
She's surviving.
For that, Jemma allows herself the smallest of smiles.
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