The Footsteps

At long last, the footsteps were moving away. Haley breathed a heavy sigh of relief, finally finding the courage to move enough to tuck back the strand of hair that had been in her face for the last eternity or so, and shuffled out of her hiding place. Her hair was too long. After a lifetime of keeping it short she could do so no longer; not unless she felt like cutting it twice a day, at least. Just another in a long list of problems she was definitely going to be complaining about for the rest of time.
Still, becoming Goran wasn't all terrible. She was excellent at sensing danger, now. Danger that wouldn't really be there if you weren't Goran in the first place.
Right. Yes. Most of the danger these days did come from being actively hunted by the School of Magi.
What now? Haley glanced around the gardens she'd found herself in, wondering if she should just crawl back into her mossy alcove hiding place and take a long nap. Couple of decades should shake off the fatigue in her bones, right? No, probably not. If she was an exhausted, stressed-out college student before her little.. affliction, she was damned-near zombified now. She thought back on what she'd been taught. In times of hunger, go for the ankles first. They never expect you to go for the ankles. She pinched the bridge of her nose, huffing at herself. Why did her only mentor have to be an absolute imbecile?
Giving up on logical thought, she decided to simply explore the gardens. There had to be somewhere she could set up camp, at least; somewhere to hide and sleep for a while longer before she had to move on. The place was well-maintained: rose bushes and twisting vines carefully guided around mazes of stone and wood, but there had to be somewhere overlooked, or an old spot where the homeless might gather. At least then she could blend in, bide her time until a real meal came along.
She lifted her head, tasting the air. The perfume of flowers overwhelmed her senses, covering everything she might understand to follow -- great. Why did she pick the flower garden, again? Idiot. Sighing, she picked a direction and followed it. Everything looked the same here and if not for her sharpened eyesight there was no way she wouldn't get lost among the carefully-pruned blooms and identically carved stone benches.
When she eventually found a change of scenery (the exit of the gardens; not ideal, but at least she could navigate better here), she was so relieved by the scents and sounds of the city that weren't pungent and floral that she almost missed the sound of the footsteps behind her.
They were moving closer.