their own volition, as if her body is possessed by a power that is at once both foreign and familiar. It is… strangely exhilarating.
Eventually, the wild terrain gives way to tamed, yet unkempt farmland. A dirt path forms, a welcome relief to the woman’s aching feet after the undergrowth, and here and there barns and cottages dot the landscape. Yet, as she draws nearer, she realizes the houses are not the first taste of civilization she’d hoped for. All of them, to a one, are rundown — abandoned.
What happened here? The woman wonders desperately.
The baying and snarling of
Just Another Struggling Writer 
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