The sun was bright, burning across her back, and she was just a grey and black streak upon the sand as morning blurred into afternoon, her legs striking the wet sand and throwing it behind her as she galloped for the simple pleasure of running. Zipporah threw her head back with a laugh that rang in her own ears, never slowing even as her lungs began to burn and her eyes stung with salt. She swerved into the surf, throwing saltwater everywhere as she continued running.
Then, abruptly, she locked her legs and slid, giving a few hops to release the momentum before she ended up head over heels in the sand. Zipporah flopped onto her haunches a second later, then leaned over on one of her legs, tongue lolling out in joyous exhilaration. Her sides expanded and fell rapidly with every pant.
Freedom suited her, she preened as she ducked her head quickly to run her tongue over her chest fur.
The plateau had grown quiet over the coming weeks. Visitors had come and gone. So to did Pier; he had not seen the prince in quite some time.
Once again Valentine was a seasman with no crew. Teka would find twisted joy in reporting his failure, the damned bird. It bought about a feeling of humility he’d much prefer to ignore.
And ignore he shall. Valentine came down from his perch above the ocean and headed further north. He’d enjoy the silence as long as he could, at least until the hen came squeaking.
But it was not so silent here as he would’ve expected. The sound of footfall came louder and louder, and soon he spotted a woman on the sand. She was out of breath.
Running from something?
He stopped a few feet away from her and balanced all his weight on one side. His signature smile was etched upon his face.
Zipporah was rather delighted when the man appeared, her smile curving around her tongue as the young woman lounged on the sand, both ears tipped forward to face him as he came close to her.
He seemed born from beach itself, sandy extremities with a sea foam base. Zipporah, in all her fanciful flights, had never met someone so suited for life on the seaside. Thrilling, to someone who so loved her thrills. The dancer didn’t bother standing. Formalities were a frivolous thing, suited for nobles and their wars of barbed politeness. Kings and their stupid, puffy faces. Or maybe that was just because that’s how she drew them. Zipporah had never actually met a king. She didn’t think she particularly wanted to. They were so dull.
Speaking of dull, the question was as well. She threw her head back with a breathless trill of a laugh.
How droll would that be! Maidens running from monsters, ha!
The “ha” came out less a laugh and more a seabird’s squawk.
None if that. I am simply running because I can, and I decided I would!