Krik

A scream he heard in the distance made the boy run even faster. He turned off the path and was now running frantically down the slope. Branches were lashing his face, and his legs were tangled in roots and twigs. He fell and got up, and then he ran further through the dense forest, a real dead forest whose high crowns not even sunlight could penetrate, let alone this stingy moonlight. Anton was used to the darkness and did not mind that the withered leaves on the treetops did not allow the light to see the forest. The darkness might have hidden danger, but it also hid him. The only thing that bothered him was that the fallen leaves rustled too loudly under his feet, thus giving away his movement. He often slipped on the leaves and then, in his fall, he would break the twigs, which cracked loudly so that his pursuers could hear him from afar. He ran until he was exhausted, and he became exhausted very quickly. Regardless of the fear that seeped into his blood, and the blood that carried it to every corner of his body, and regardless of the danger he would be in if he stopped, he had to stop to catch his breath. So he stopped abruptly and immediately crouched down.