mazerun
Minho pulled one of his knives from a pocket and, without missing a beat, cut a big piece of ivy off the wall. He threw it on the ground behind him and kept running.
“Bread crumbs?” Thomas asked, the old fairy tale popping into his mind. Such odd glimpses of his past had almost stopped surprising him.
“Bread crumbs,” Minho replied. “I’m Hansel, you’re Gretel.”