Red nods, hand reaching out to curl in the fabric of Katters' sleeve as she turns to head towards the house, picking up speed, her ears twitching nervously.
Katters glances down, at Red’s hand, then back, over her shoulder, and finally forward, to the house.
Red doesn't seem to notice, pressing onwards with single-minded determination... other hand still clutching the axe hidden under her hood for comfort.
There's no sign of your pursuers yet... and the house... it's still far away, but there is definitely a door, and a few windows. You can't tell if there's any glass in them, yet.
By now, Katters has gotten her breath back, and she takes off into a jog, and then a run. The last thing they need is to be spotted halfway to their sanctuary.
Katters doesn’t look back, doesn’t want to risk slowing down. She keeps running, tucking herself lower in the vain hope that it will make her more difficult to spot.
The hounds howl, raucous and loud, but Katters, you and Red manage to reach the little rundown house... The door looks solid.
Red lets go of you and throws herself against the door, scrabbling at the lock, and manages to force it open, whining in panic under her breath.
“That sounds like they saw us,” Katters says, clutching both her kit and the knife Red gave her. “And you don’t sound confident that we’re safe in here.”
"I... I have no idea if we're safe." Red confesses, quietly. "And for... for all we know, they chased someone else down here, too, I mean. I don't think the trees would have been safe, right? All deadwood."
Katters swallows, tilting her head back to rest it against the wall. “They’ll try to flush us out,” she says. “Whether they know we’re in here or not, they’ll try to scare us into running again.”
"...do. Can you look around? For. For a secure place to hide, in here? I... I can keep the door closed." Red's voice is growing more desperate. The sounds are slowly growing nearer, and the intensity with which the world seems to shake with every hoofbeat only grows.
“Roger-roger,” Katters says. “I can try.” She looks through the house, keeping low to the ground and away from the windows.
In her haste, she manages to knock her nose against an awkwardly placed table, and the blood trickles warm, though it probably is not broken again. Then again, that might be because it's still broken.
Son of a— But the pain actually helps ground her, puts her back in the here-and-now instead of floating around somewhere above it. She wipes her nose with the back her hand — ow. — and keeps moving.
