They were coming for him. He'd always known that.
Sometimes, the trees would tell him that too. They would tell him echoes of a past that suspiciously mirrored his own future. The trees told him that they were coming for him. They told him of the echoes of footsteps, the slight movements amongst the forest that were invisible to the human eye.
He'd been counting down the days until his death. The trees gave him the numbers; unlike the trees, he had the capacity to observe the numbers, to tick off each day, each second of the remainder of his life.
He could keep on running and running, but he doesn't want to anymore. He is no longer completely human, but neither is he a complete animal. His basic animalistic desire for survival is stifled by his human feelings of apathy. Even if he wanted to be like an animal, there is no way in which he can avoid the pangs of a pointless life.
His pack is gone; the wolves willingly deserted him once they smelt the approaching death upon his skin.
The trees warn him, now, now! Behind you! But he does not flinch, does not waver.
When the poison-tipped kunai pierces through the back of his neck, the point of the blade sticking out directly below his Adam's apple, Kiba is ready. His last breath is a gurgle of blood and saliva and it only lasts for a few seconds. And the seconds last for a thousand seconds over.
He wonders if he should regret not being one of those who would be spared even though they'd deserted their own villages – like Sasuke. But then the trees tell him that even though he is almost human, he doesn't need to suffer their insignificant kinds of feelings.
He's suddenly laying on his back. Kiba only knows this because he can no longer see the grass or the trees but instead a clear expanse of blue. And he realises that he must have fallen, lying directly below the part of the forest where the canopy breaks and a patch of sky is exposed.
There are words being spoken. But the words are no longer important. No longer relevant. He tries to breathe but he hurts too much inside and he starts to panic. His chest shudders and jerks, and he wishes desperately that he'd run away. He wishes he'd run away when he'd had the chance.
The echoes from the trees ring in his mind, telling him what he is going to do. What his future holds for him. His body calms, although his mind races and unwinds and unravels. And in the blue sky he sees himself as a child, carefree and young. He sees himself skipping classes with Naruto, and Shikamaru and Chouji. He doesn't regret a thing.
Waking up before the sun had risen, he'd gone out every morning before school to explore the reaches of the forests around Konoha with Akamaru. He can still feel the faint echoes of the rush of adrenaline, the excited blood rushing through his veins as he'd bounded effortlessly over branches and trees and soft, loamy soil with Akamaru nestled comfortably within his hood jacket. Remembers his mother giving him Akamaru, remembers picking him up as a puppy, soft silky hairs beneath his fingertips. And he remembers his death.
The poison from the kunai enters his bloodstream, the liquid seeping from the metal to merge with his blood. The wind rustling through the trees passes through Kiba's body as the poison reaches his heart. His insides seem to shiver as the wind passes through him, and his heart beats waveringly, pounding the poison throughout his system, causing instantaneous death to his somatic cells.
His vision darkens considerably and he is afraid. Echoes rush past through the trees, and he's on a mission again, with his team. Six years into the past, and Hinata is staying up at night by herself, and she's singing some song to comfort herself. And he'd listened and said nothing, and he knew Shino had listened too. Hinata's soft, gentle voice sings into his ear and he's no longer afraid.
The trees tell him of Akamaru again. And suddenly, Kiba understands.
It's with excruciating pain that he rips himself free from his body, from every single cell. He pulls his being apart from his self, rips his spirit free from its tangible bindings. He bursts free from himself and out into the open space he runs.
And the trees tell him what to do. Like Akamaru he runs and dives and plunges into the earth from which his spirit came.
And his spirit rushed on and on until there was only the earth and nothing more.
Note: The story can be read, somewhat, as an epilogue to Dreams. Mainly was written as a standalone, though.