the careful planning of her escape from chester , the cold trip to the church of st. john , slipping through a rear door , the deliberate footsteps to the edge of the city in the darkening gloom , the need to keep walking , walking , walking even though she had only a vague sense of the direction to wales because she feared a humiliating capture and return to the castle ; the frigid november nights during which she dared not close her eyes for fear the wolves would attack her or the wild welsh warriors of whom shed heard such terrifying tales ; of walking , walking , walking until her fine leather shoes , unused to the punishment , split and shed had to rip strips of cloth with numbed fingers from the hem of her gown to tie around them just to keep them on her feet ; of the hunger which had finally attacked her on the second day and made her dizzy by the third and half-crazed that she was killing her unborn child by denying it nourishment ; of the fear , worst of everything , that her journey would never end , because she had no idea where she wanted to go or how she would recognize safety when she found it .