A bird flies by.

One wonders how a bird feels, flapping its wings and looking down at the world.

What kind of person does 'that individual' look like to the bird peering down?

What does that flying creature think of the human running like a wild beast just to survive?

---

Guest, a mere human, ran like mad.

Thoughts are gone. There is only the need to run.

The words 'I have to escape' are the only things circling the mind. Driven insane by instinctive terror.

Run. Just run.

I don't want to die.

Run.

I want to live.

Running until the lungs feel like bursting and the legs feel like breaking, Guest eventually enters the deep forest.

The sky is dark.

...Ah.

Looking back, it seems they haven't followed this far. Relief sets in—

But before that, realistic concerns return.

What should I do?

Stamina has hit its limit.

I want to rest somewhere. If I run any further, my legs will give out.

Wandering, and wandering again.