Once inside she barely had room to breathe. Though the tight space held her closely, she knew it was no sanctuary. It was more a prison, one of which the Tyson creature could not reach, yet sat just out of reach and reminded her of a lover gone. Was this her fate? To stay trapped within the wet walls of terror and hope. She wept loudly, as stealth was no longer necessary, she wept in pain and in anger. The creatures had turned her once savior into the very beasts of the night. She stood there now glaring at the creature, pondering going to him and ending this torture, letting him turn her into what she feared most, a nightstalker.Then she did what she could not of even of predicted. She charged. She charged with all her might. She charged for hope, for Tyson, for Willam, for all those lost, she charged. It was either luck or surprise that she overtook the creature; she did not stop to consider which. She continued straight through the weakened walls of which the attack came and ran into the night.