Feral equals Free

Captured

"Get back here demon!"

An angry shout full of rage broke through the silence of the night. A girl about 14 years of age broke through the ferns getting her grimy, tanned skin scratched. Her bare feet hit the forest floor hard as she puffed and gasped for air, running. Spikes of red hot pain shot up her teared jean-covered legs. Her curly, almost black hair flew behind her as she raced through the forest stepping on twigs, leaves and branches. Her black and white shirt were torn, it had a picture of a woman in armor and a big cat beside her. It read: 

My mother didn't raise me to be a princess, she trained me to be a Valkyrie.   

But the shirt was torn at the sleeves. The girl's brown almost black eyes matched her hair as they held fear when she turned around to see if her pursuers were close behind. She had ran from her home when men armored in bullet proof vests stormed her house shooting her mother to get to the daughter who had climbed out the window by that time. They called her mother a were-demon but the daughter who was mentally ill and almost never talked didn't really know what they meant. 

The girl's name was Valkyrie. 

Valkyrie had ADHD and unusually high anger and aggression levels so she was very dangerous. She fell down to the ground exhausted but when she heard heavy foot steps she crawled on all fours dragging half her body to the stump of the nearest tree. Moss covered the base of the big oak and grew in the most moist spots on the tree as Valkyrie used her strong arms to pull herself up using the tree as leverage. She heard the crunching of sticks and leaves close by as adrenaline swept through her body like a flash flood destroying a small town. Fear radiated off her dirt and sweat covered body as she clawed at the moist and soft bark with her broken nails. 

A cut on her cheek started dripping blood that ran down to her chin as her nails became to feel stronger and a tiny bit sharper. Her nails scratched the bark making deep lines in tree as moss was scratched off with it. Valkyrie raised one hand and grabbed at the trunk making five nail marks when she smashed her hand into the tree creating finger holds. She managed to get into a rhythm of digging her raw hands into the bark using all her strength to pull herself up the oak. She reached up with her right hand towards the first branch which was about six metres above the ground.

I can do this!

Valkyrie strained her hand and managed to dig her sharp nails into the base of the unlucky branch which was covered in moss. The metallic taste of blood began to touch her taste buds as a trickle of blood had managed to come out of her nose and onto her parched lips. Her toe nails dug into the finger holds as she lugged herself onto the branch to catch a breather. She gasped for oxygen like she was never gonna breathe the fresh smell of moss and torn bark. Valkyrie's hair was plastered to the sides of her face like glue and plastered to her scratched shoulders. 

"I swear i heard something over here!"

A deep voice came from behind the bushes as about ten men in army gear and bullet proof vests with sniper rifles, tranquilizers and machine guns stalked through the undergrowth towards the mossy oak Valkyrie was in. 

Careful not to make a sound, Valkyrie began to grab at the higher branches and pull herself upward. Her weight shook a few leaves on the branches as she stayed still and held her breath when the leaves fell towards the armed men. Her aggression levels were rising like the tide and being ADHD, sitting in one spot for a long time was not helping but her mind raced and her heart beat like a race car trying to think of a plan. Hatred and anger clogged her thinking as all she think about was revenge. Revenge for her mother, revenge for her.

She couldn't think straight. 

Leaves rustled from the moss oak as Valkyrie jumped inhumanly into another tree causing the murderers below to look up. All they saw was an empty tree until one of them, a pale ginger haired man with a ginger beard and mustache with a slim build spotted strange marks in the bark of the mossy oak. He raised his gloved hand to signal the troops to stop and kneeled down to have a closer look at the shredded tree bark. He turned his army colored cap backwards so he could see better but also look like geek who was trying to fit into the roll of a DJ or who was trying fit in with the cool kids in a high school. He held a machine gun filled with tranquilizing darts in one gloved hand as he stroked the claw marks in the tree with the other. He kept stroking the marks and felt the shredded moss at his trouser knees.