Joss tears through the bramble and bracken, ignoring the prickling thorns and nettle stings plaguing her bare legs and feet. The stony walls of the gorge bear down on her, intimidating, threatening, her only escape route carved out between them. She could attempt to scale them, but her time is too short. Her chocolate hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat, legs screaming, throat burning. She pauses a second to gulp down air for her parched lungs, leaning on the cliff beside her, leaving a sanguine handprint on the rockface. But then she hears the faint clamour behind her, the collective rage of The Cult swelling to a distant roar. She forces her aching limbs and bloodied feet to keep running.

Before long, Joss becomes aware of another sound, the sound of running water. The valley widens, revealing a small, fast-flowing river on her left. She races against it, trying to outpace the current, pushing her body onwards. She tries not to dwell on the chaos left in her wake, the crimson stains on her skin. As the river grows, Joss sees a sharp drop before her; undaunted, she flings herself from the waterfall’s edge, crashing into the plunge pool below…

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