Red, orange, gold, the colors of fall, they all meshed together, flying past the young elf as he sprinted through the woodland. Though small in stature, he still managed to keep away from the soldiers chasing him. Dodging between and jumping over any obstructions in his path, the youngling slowly was becoming short of breath. His heart pounded in his chest, his lungs heaved, his palms were sweaty. This wasn't how he intended for things to go.
Behind him, some eight yards away, a group of six was pursuing him. Unlike the adolescent male, these elves were fit and far more agile. They moved with grace and athleticism. Their feet made hardly a sound in the crisp leaves underfoot. They were like a pack of wild animals. Eyes locked on their prey, they pursue it relentlessly. They were beginning to close the gap, the eight yards turning to seven, then six. It wouldn't be long before they would overtake the runaway juvenile.
Tharuil could sense them getting closer. He knew his run was about up. He was finding it harder and harder to breath and his legs were going numb from weariness. Never-the-less, he refused to give up. He was determined to run until they successfully apprehended him.
The path he was taking began to slope downwards making the run a little easier. To his left the ground remained the same level as before causing for a rough wall of stone to rise beside him until it stood a few times taller than the full-grown elves running after him. Looking up ahead, the bank made a curve to the left, and he chose to follow it. The bend was sharp, but not so sharp that Tharuil lost much speed. Running in the new direction, he only made it a few yards when all of the sudden the ground gave out under him. He disappeared beneath the earth.