Whitefish River When God is gone and the Devil takes hold

His lungs heaved. Tongue lolled. He grasped for air as charged through this wilderness and embraced the very heart of the beast within. It was freeing, this running. It reminded him that every bone and muscle and fiber within his body was still very much alive and capable of things he'd never even dreamed of accomplishing. This life. This gift.

His out of body experience was brought down to earth as Tonravik slowed. Either he was gaining on her further, or she was quickly dwindling to exhaustion. He didn't think to consider her basic bodily functions. He was still lost in the race, lost in the game, and so he barreled after her and came along side of her. He lifted on his paws raising to hook one around her neck and pull her back down in a tackle.