The Floodlands Don't get hot and flustered

All was well. The thick gusts pouring through his fur, pink mouth partially agape, tongue out and tasting the chill of the day. He was a graceful thing, nimble and vivid yet a blur as he gave his all into this dash through the hemlock and firs. There, and then gone.

But it seemed the forest had conspired with fate, and time began to turn on itself as Karma came to reap her due. Pine needles rose from a startled flock of midwestern partridges, and with both feathers aflutter and the fragments of dirt, particulates thrust unforgivingly into the sea serpents brilliant and seductive blues.
His step missed its mark as went blind-

and across a fallen log, the man fell. 

Rushing to his fours, it soon became three as he fought to pull the chips and splinters from his eyes. Deftly wiping and smudging, thumbclaw frantically tried to scratch off what he could. But it was to no avail! He would never lay eyes on not even a basic wench, now- 

Paw steps closed in-

how close was this man? Had he lost him? Impossible-

The sea serpent felt anxiety as he lost his role as a predator, and was flung into the niche of prey.