Gyrfalcon's Keep fresh off the bus

His mother, Trail, hadn’t named him Yeet. Nor had his father, Joker, despite the implications of his own name. No, he’d earned that name, through nearly two years of recklessness and sheer stupidity.

“Watch this,” he said to Yolo, the vulpine equivalent of, “Hold my beer.”

Without any other warning, he flung himself off one of the keep’s many ledges. Rather, he yeeted himself. He dropped like a stone, the January wind whistling in his ears, his heart in his throat.

He landed in a snowbank with a loud FWUMPH!!! A heartbeat of silence passed before he emerged, foxy fist pumping in the air with a loud, “FUCKIN’ A, MAN!!!”