The thing was scared. It hadn't known such a feeling in its…what? Year of life? Nothing had particularly threatened it until now, the guy who fed it was big and mean-looking, sure, but he never killed the thing's friend. The pure instinct that allowed the thing to escape was dwindling, and now it just felt tired…and…it didn't know what else, but there was something that tortured it.
The thing began to shake and wheeze, rocking back and forth, crawling around, gripping into the dirt. The only comfort in the forest was the peaceful darkness that the rock it was under provided, and it knew that would soon have to go as well.
It looked at its claws, they were still dirty. Still had Mister Morgan's blood, skin and hair on them. The thing threw up again and wiped the debris off on the rock, swiftly crawling out from underneath the shelter to not be caught dwelling in one spot for too long.
The thing remembered the primal rage and urge to kill that gripped it when it heard the news. "92834 is dead, return to your pen." said Morgan. The casual tone, the annoyed tone. It was more than it could bear. The thing recalled this with a tearful growl, it didn't remember much of what it did, just digging into Morgan's face, chipping a claw on something hard, struggling to get a gooey piece of…something off its paw.
Against its better judgement, it screamed in pure rage. Everything it did, all for this. It heard a foot-step. It ran back under the rock and froze, completely still. A woman's face looked into the hole, and smiled. "I sure haven't seen you in the wildlife manual. You don't belong in this reserve, do ya?" she asked. It growled and backed into a corner, keeping up the lie that it had the energy to defend itself.
"It's okay" said the woman. She had dark brown hair and green eyes. Her skin was pale, and had freckles scattered about. She wore some loose-fitting jeans and a black sweater. "I'm here to help you. I'm not like those other people. If I am, you have every right to run away."
The thing could barely focus on anything at this point. It was all blurry, and the tears only worsened it. Its heart and instincts were at odds. The loving part of it wanted to crawl into the woman's arms and cry itself to sleep. The fearful part wanted to run between her legs and disappear into the forest.
The loving part won, and Runner never once regretted it.