Sleepy Fox Hollow This love is gettin' kind of dangerous

pippin’s ears shot up like tiny flags, his whole body jolting with the thrill of her words.
race? he gasped, nearly tripping over his own shadow.
his rump wriggled with excitement, legs stamping the dirt in place.
then she moved—and he squealed, spinning on his hocks to chase her like a windstorm wrapped in fur.
ma! i’m comin’! he hollered, all breath and bounce, his hooves drumming a lopsided rhythm behind her.
he surged forward with all the power his twiggy legs could muster, tail flying, nose outstretched like he might catch the wind in his teeth.
i’m fast! i’m fast! he whooped, his voice cracking with joy as he nearly collided with her hip, then darted ahead—just barely, just once—victory pulsing in his little chest like a drumbeat.

a rock tripped him.
he flailed, recovered, and kept going.

no fall could stop him now.
not when he was racing his ma.