Wapun Meadow huir

he was lucky for his hard months of travel; the way the terrain shaped his lean limbs a boon in this race for his life. 

soto felt ameline’s breath hot on his snapping jocks. she moved to block his right, and the cursed male moved to block his left. their teeth dragged along his burning backside. they moved in formation that suggested they planned to pinch him forth. 

and if they caught him they would surely kill him. 

he would tire soon. 

soto veered erratically, but never so much he leaned into any waiting jaw. mid stride he did the unthinkable and —



with all of his power soto pulled out the handbrake just as it seemed they would close in. he hopes they fly past his brake-check, but he doesn’t pause long enough to watch the satisfying maneuver  play out. 

with a grunt betraying his near exhaustion he pushes his limbs to move, pirouetting into the opposite direction in the hopes it would place too much ground between them for them to possibly recover. 

soto’s throat burns as he presses on in a flogging gallop.