Her breath comes in fast and shallow, making little clouds of mist as she exhales. Her feet pound on the asphalt beneath them. Water splashes in her wake, slow to register what had disturbed them. Her mind races, taking in and analyzing every possible weapon, hiding spot, and escape route faster than a jack rabbit ever could. Behind her, footsteps and hoof beats thud and echo through the deserted streets.

She is always one step ahead of them, but they are always one step behind, hot on her tail. She would prefer that they would be further. Much, much further.

She darts into a building and then out of another, so fast her movements could be magic. Her pursuers bark commands and shout back and fourth to each other, giving away their positions. One of her two advantages. The other, obviously, her speed. But their advantage was in numbers and brute force. Where she was sly and witty, they were wild and vicious. It would only be a matter of time before she would be caught.

It had never been a question of if she would be caught, even before stealing from them. It was a question of when. And so far, she was doing well at delaying her capture.

Just a little longer, and then she would surrender. Into that building, up those stairs, out that door, down that roof, over that walkway. Once she reached the ground, she would do something similar. Through that archway, in that door, down those stairs, through that hallway, out that window, up those stairs, across that roof, down that chimney. Anything to distract her pursuers from what she was really doing.

Leading them further and further away from what they were truly chasing. Not the stealer, but the stolen. And the location of said stolen object was another story entirely.