Blake's bare feet pounded the earth as he sprinted with everything he had; he could hear the pursuit behind him, drawing closer, and although he screwed his face up with the effort he put in, struggling to increase his pace, he was already going as fast as he could. The two men chasing him were larger, heavier, and under ordinary circumstances they'd have been much slower, but they were well-fed and healthy whereas he'd had a stale cracker and nothing else for about as long as he could remember.<br/><br/>He left the docks behind, darting into an alleyway and jumping over a short wooden fence; he was running based on instinct and immediate observation, and nothing else. There was no thought as to<span style="font-style: italic">where</span>he was going - he only knew where there was room to duck under something, or if one path seemed clearer than the other.<br/><br/>He ended up trudging through a garden, watching wistfully as he passed several plants laden with plump, bright red tomatoes; he was wondering if he had time to pick a couple when something long and thin hit him struck in the neck.<br/><br/>He looked forward in time to see a series of female undergarments flying forward before heaving back towards him - the clothesline was strong enough that it knocked him right off his feet as it whipped back. He landed hard on the ground with a grunt of pain and watched several black spots as they began swimming across his vision.<br/><br/>A pair of strong yet gentle hands grabbed him by the shoulders and heaved him up to his feet; before he could protest or attempt to fight them off, he was being steered into a doorway just a few feet away. "My my, looks like you've made some friends," muttered a woman's voice, and then the door was being closed and he was waiting inside, listening as heavy footfalls outside came to a halt just outside the door.<br/><br/>"Where is he?!"<br/><br/>"Where is who, Bertram?"<br/><br/>"The little rat who hit me in the face with<span style="font-style: italic">shit</span>, that's who!"<br/><br/>Blake put his ear up against the wood, listening intently as the two men, both of them out of breath and evidently furious, accosted the woman whose clothesline had floored him.<br/><br/>"Yeah, some dirty urchin whose friend we were going to discipline for stealing-"<br/><br/>"Not to mention beating Lester for his chicken-"<br/><br/>"And he went barreling over your fence so we know he's been through here, Margo, so out with it!"<br/><br/>There was a pause, during which Blake held his breath and waited to be given up. This woman didn't know him, she had no reason to protect him, and most importantly, she seemed to know the two men who'd been chasing him. Furthermore, they weren't lying about what he and Mallory had done.<br/><br/>"I'm sorry, but I honestly have no idea what you two are going on about. I saw no children coming through here, and if you intended on harming either of them with that rod of yours, Michael, then I wouldn't have helped you regardless. I am tired of telling you two about your<span style="font-style: italic">atrocious</span>habits."<br/><br/>"But Lest-"<br/><br/>"Lester was probably drunk, wasn't he? When he was supposed to be working? Hmm?"<br/><br/>Blake moved away from the door, exhaling with relief, missing the rest of the conversation as he knelt down on the floor of the small home. His head was swimming; exhaustion and hunger, not to mention blood loss, were all finally taking their toll on him. He blinked, and what felt like an instant later he awoke to find himself stretched out on a long, cushioned chair.<br/><br/>He jumped, sitting bolt upright, and saw that his arm had been expertly bandaged up; he also saw that a table laden with fresh fruits, chopped up vegetables, and a basket of fried fish had been set up immediately in front of him.<br/><br/>The woman who'd saved him was standing on the other side of the meal (though it was really more like a feast, given his current state), smiling genially down at him. Earlier he'd only caught a glimpse of her, but now he could see that she was well past middle age with iron grey tufts visible in her black hair along with quite a bit of excess weight around her upper arms and midsection. Her face was tanned and leathery, and at the moment it was creased with laugh lines as she grinned.<br/><br/>"You look hungry, dear. Dig in!"<br/><br/>He stared up at her, speechless, before diving into the first thing he could get his hands on. At the back of his mind he remembered Mallory, but the food overwhelmed all other considerations as he tore into a delicious piece of fish.