Shadewood i. silver thracian thaw (m)

The athleticism of the woman was divine; she carved her way through the forest with more ease than he could manage for himself. They were similar in so many ways. Long-limbed and strong, fully capable of handling the winterscape and all of its vagaries. It was easy for him to keep up with her — although what helped him the most was the ever-present glow of her body as it raced along. Even in the haze of falling snow she was there, illuminated, drawing closer because of his growing insistence.

No, he would not give up on this chase. He never gave up on anything when he set his mind upon it: and she had captivated him with one glance. She drew him along a path of her own creation, in full control. He ploughed through deep snow with ease and climbed across the exposed knuckles of massive root systems, always gaining, always faltering just when he was close—a tactic used to wear him down perhaps, and test his endurance. There were other ways to do that.

Asa would not try to overtake her position with force, he was not the type to do that. The chase was part of the fun. He came to that realization as he followed after her, his lungs full of frigid air while his pulse raced; and when finally he found an angle with which to turn and veer in to her path, he did so. Sweeping close and reaching with a playful nip at her haunch.

A convoluted game of tag.