Whitefish River When God is gone and the Devil takes hold

Her paws pounded against the earth. The woman was headlong into her stride, but her mate still gained on her, snapping now at her heels. Tonravik did not look back, knowing that at this speed there would be no coordination about the movement. It would likely cause her to tumble over herself and ruin the run for the both of them. They raced the river, and Tonravik slowed some, to see what her mate might do if he could catch her, or catch up to her.

She had no idea what his preference there was; as they traveled, they learned. She more of him, him more of her. And then the urge to pee came. Her movement seemed to tighten as she worked to slow herself further, sniffing the air again.