The Heartwood the wolf and the lion

It was the length of his legs more than anything else that made him fast; a runner's build obtained from scaling canyon walls and hunting along the thinnest pathways known to man. She was quicker than him still— a dashing hare with such swift sure-footedness, he wasn't sure he'd be able o close the small gap that had formed between them in the game. He laughed, then gritted his teeth in an attempt to focus more energy and power into his feet. Though as it turned out he wouldn't need it. October moved at racing speeds with the grace of a dancer, but she was apparently not infallible.

Just as he surged forward, his quarry took a mighty tumble, shrieking with laughter as Rickon threw his body down in front of her on reflex. The momentum sent them both crashing, October winding up on top of the two-wolf dogpile, though looking worse for wear. Her white fur hadn't done as well as his dark coat had in the soot and grime— and when he looked up at her, bewildered and checking minutely for injury, he couldn't suppress the laugh that came suddenly from him at seeing her comically smudged face.