Barrow Fields i would ask, almost insist, on treating you kind and fair

tachyon could not have hoped for his ruse to pan over any better. lamb-legged and doe-eyed, lusca had twirled on her stilt legs and advanced -- he could practically see the superiority as it smugly rose from her body and it was all he could do to with-hold his plan -- to steady his aim -- to wait to strike.

but strike he did, fast and swift (reality: clumsily and hard) -- and with a giggle that any self respecting man should have been ashamed of, tachyon peeled away from the sylph. she was hot on his heels and he was sure she was breathing fire from her roaring muzzle -- he could feel the heat of her indignity simmer off of her hide in her breath as she scuttled along his flank and issued a sharp nip. he yipped, bulging his barrel away from the score of her teeth, and in doing so, rolled in tumultuous barrel-roll until gravity reclaimed him and his chest slammed into damp substrate.

he shook his head vigorously, having been slightly stunned by the momentous crash -- and a wide and idiotic grin claimed his features.