Hideaway Strath that is the thing that calls to all of my kind

Roarke falls behind. Man, he needs to work on his cardio stamina so he can, at least, keep himself paced when chasing Molly, he thinks as he huffs out a pant and draws in a deep breath to soothe the ache in his lungs, trotting along having long since given up sprinting after her. It is easy enough to follow her trail: by scent or the skid marks she leaves on the floor of the Strath when she’s turned too hard. “Mol!” He calls for her though he is certain he remains on her trail. She has gotten ahead of him. For a second he feels like cursing the tundra for making him so fat but then that would be cursing his mother and such a thing was utterly unthinkable so he did not. He hurries when her scent grows stronger and flings himself through the foliage with a soft ‘rah’ and only just resists the urge to flop down dramatically in the clearing. “Mol, where are we?” Were they even still in the Strath? Roarke didn’t know and suddenly …didn’t really care. It was an adventure they were looking for, wasn’t it? He huffs out a few more pants, draws in a last deep breath and saunters up to his sibling bearing the title of “big turd” with as much dignity as he can muster. She had won fair and square, after all and Roarke was man enough to admit and praise her victory over him. “C’mon! Lets keep going.” So long as she didn’t fancy a second race and leave him in her dust again Roarke has no intention of leaving her side on this adventure whether it takes them to the borders, as it was meant to or beyond them.