Overture Downs Hold your horses, honey; I've got coupons for the Pringles

Of course she'd cry foul, the little witch. It wasn't fair—but to him, not her! She caught him up easily; he felt her bearing down on his heels with every stride, her breath steaming up his tail (as one Bugs Bunny might have said). 

Ah, shite, Pygmalion muttered mock ruefully, smirking. Still, he was enjoying the run. It had been a while since he had really gotten his blood pumping like this. Patrols and hunting small game were fine, but there was nothing like vigorous exercise.

He was born for this. They were born for this.

Despite all but admitting defeat, he didn't slacken his stride, continuing to zoom over the meadow like a bolt of white lightning.