Hoshor Plains Wrap my arms around him and pretend

More often than not, this was somehow going to turn into a game of tag. He could see she avoided his own lunge with a swift swish of dashing away, the fae's body whirling and wizzing before him like a living thong of lightning. She was almost uncatchable, but that was what they lived for; the quelling of the 'Almost'.

Her patterns of darting were irregular - he would have to nab her on a lucky hunch. Desperately he tried not to allow the hunter in him to spiral his mindset into a controlling ordeal, where he would simply throw himself forward in her semi-circle and cut her off, disabling her pattern eternally. No, he gave her her half-circuits in exchange to nip and nom at both that alert fave and that waltzing tail. Be damned the luck now; he'd bite at what he could!

Each of her crescents were punctuated with his own dashes forward, his leaps to throw forelimbs on her and catch her only for her dancer-like body to whirl the opposite way. Forelimbs netted nothing but air and ground, where her body teased from the other side of his own. But simply because he missed his quarry, the fun continued! In fact, more fun bloomed from this endless and fruitless banter of unsucceded tag. So many times the prey had been either too slow or weakened; this girl was lively and vivacious in both heart and body. She was the true spirit of the hunt!

And within, he knew he would ultimately find ecstacy if he had ever caught her.

Every lunge he tried, she skipped away from him like a cunning serpent, agile and unscathed. Yet deciding to change up his own methods, wintery gems narrowed as he curved the majority of his plight to the left, attempting to herd her into a feint which he knew he would soon double back, and head into.