You push the leaves to the side. Their prickly thorns scratch your palms as you force their thick branches back. You thrust your shoulder in front of you, pushing through the folage. Razor-sharp leaves and prickly vines rip and tear at your clothing, but you cannot stop. Not while they are following you. They...the ones with the claws - the teeth...the eyes that bore into your skull as if to search your brain for that specific element. FEAR. They feed on it. They sense it. They know you're afraid. You know they're after you. All you can do now...

is

RUN