Her worn tennis shoes, adventitiously holey from overuse and covered in duct tape in an effort to expiate the damage, beat upon the loose gravel of the path.  It was long before dawn, and the deserted road was engulfed in shadow.  The prompting which drove her to rise could be ascribed to the duress of physical activity that for some is intrinsic. That same predisposition was the source of her ferment, which expedited each weary step and labored breath as she pressed forward.  She owed her fitness to the many miles she had run, her training a steady acculturation to pace herself with the times of expert runners—her time and effort had eliminated any inclination to abominate the exertion and enjoined her to exercise. 
Elongating her steps, she prepared to confront the hill which rose before her, the midpoint of her circuitous route, but was halted in her progress when she saw a hare lying, mutilated, on the side of the road.  The concrete surrounding it was stained with crimson, mottled with the pink of the innards strewn about the carcass.  The creature’s ribs had not collapsed in the trauma of the incident, as they would have if he had been run over.  A chill began at the small of her back and crept up her spine, freezing the sweat on her radiating skin.  Rather than stopping to investigate further, she convinced herself, out of commiseration, that, while the inconsistent character of the wounds indicated otherwise, the poor soul had inadvertently met his demise at the hands of a speeding vehicle. 
As she reached the crest of the hill, the full moon hanging starkly in the sky above her, she glanced around, squinting to make sense of the tenebrous black forms with encircled her.  Feeling that vague sense of intuition which is often felt when one finds themselves in an uncontrollable situation, she fell back into a vigorous pace.  In the distance, she heard the echoing howl of a lone wolf.  There was a hitch in her breath, she was puzzled by the singleness of the voice, she had assumed that they traveled in packs.  Up ahead, the road dropped off into a deep rut, a small canyon.  Thick trees alternately blocked out the rays of moonlight, creating and eerie pattern of white upon the black of the road. 
Behind her, she heard a low, menacing growl.  Flipping around, she saw nothing but a moving shadow, a rustle in the bushes.  The world was blacked out by a thick tree cover, crickets whirring within the leaves.  Seconds later, she reached a clearing, and the world was once again bathed in the silver light of the moon.  Again, the dark form flashed before her vision.  She jogged forward warily, turning in a circle to glance behind her as she entered another section of gloom.  Ten feet ahead of her, the entirety of the night sky could be seen, a lone tree a half of a mile away the only interruption in the desolation.    
The distance between her and the tree line closed.  She was barely one foot beyond it when she felt a searing pain in her left calf, which gave out and left her sprawled on the ground, writhing in pain.  Through her pained haze, she could see a 7-foot tall figure looming over her, she imagined she could feel the coarse fur of his leg against hers.  The figure reared, a dripping white maw approaching her at break-neck speed.   She rolled, digging her toes into the ground, and pushed up onto her feet and into a crippled sprint, her injured leg dragging behind her.  She ran for the tree, collapsing against the bark when she reached it.  A perfect circle of darkness separated her from the clear night.   The figure rushed towards her, until it met the barrier.  It circled the tree, snapping at her, and growling in dissent.   With each lunge, she flinched and shrunk back into the bark, its shadow her sole refuge.  The night was slipping away, the shadow growing longer, shifting away from her across the grass. 
At dawn, she was gone-- the only living thing a stark white hare slipping off into the grass.