Redhawk Caldera on the wings of a flea

He somehow reached the bottom of the slope without killing himself. He let out another shout of laughter at his success and whipped his head to look over his shoulder. Was Sphyra still giving chase? Was she catching up to him?

He saw her beeline down the hillside, her momentum a lot more controlled than his. Grinning, Caracal faced forward and picked up speed again. His tongue flopped from his mouth like a juicy piece of meat.

Of course, disaster would strike once he hit even ground. He didn't even know what caused it, just that one second he was galloping along the foot of the caldera and the next, he had pitched forward with such force that he flipped and landed hard on his back.

The wind knocked out of him and he made a choking, gasping sound as he tried to breathe. Jerking and twitching, he flopped over onto his side. This had happened to him a few times before—thanks to the twins who were always roughhousing so, well, roughly—but it sucked so badly every time.

As if it wasn't bad enough that he couldn't frickin' breathe, Caracal couldn't help but notice a sharp sting in his right paw and looked down to see one of his toenails had been ripped out by the root.