Broken Antler Fen Fitter of the Fittest

Ambrosia nodded a good morning to Pearl, a wide yawn cutting her off from speaking. By the time she shut her jaws, Kinra was speaking and she had to listen. Her lemon eyes locked onto the feather for three.... two.... one. Gone! Ambrosia dug her hind paws into the ground, shoving herself forward and starting the race with a leap forward. She tried to keep her tail tucked, but it seemed intent on billowing out free behind her. Giving up on her tail, she put her mind to watching for trouble; soon the prospect of not one but two wolves beating her in this race poked at her pride, and before she knew it she'd thrown caution to the wind. The tan and black she-wolf galloped on hard, but Ambrosia was no small wolf. Her warrior's build was her obvious demise, unable to keep pulling ahead of the others. She was used to running, but only to catch prey. By now, the chase for such things would have been over; and a warrior had no reason to be running for so long. Ambrosia had been trained to fight, not move. Pride wounded, Ambrosia only just kept behind them as they reached the lake. Panting hard, Ambrosia lied down on the banks and took a long, icy drink of water. It felt like a kick in the stomach thanks to her hot body, but also amazing at the same time for the same reason.