flaxen fields opened ahead of her like the sky had the night 'fore last, always raining, it seemed, and blair was always running. breathless all the way to her teeth, ankles mudstained, one eye drawn tight against the festering soreness of her face. her fur held wicked angles and appeared to still be dripping though the rain had come and gone.
her legs shook before they gave out from underneath her. she ragdolled to the ground in dramatic fashion.
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