And now others, they our from every direction, and suddenly, She is running again. Sand flies, starts to clinic in her tassels, her eyes sting, But She squints, pushing her muscles to urge her forward. Her long, lean legs extend before her. The sound of pounding hooves is the only thing that reaches her harks. She jams them backward against her neck with a disgruntled grunt, and pushes harder. The sand that is flying makes it harder and harder to see, But She must keep going, there is a pull that her whole frame. It makes her run, even if She doesn't want to. Her bared are flaring, her barrel heaving with every step, and her heart pounding steadily within It's bone cage. But She is fit, She uses her long legs to the best ability, her strides long and fluid.
She pays no attention to who is behind or in front, all She can think of is the pull. She pushes harder. Another grunt escapes her, the effort jiggling her lean bodice, But She doesn't give in. All She can think of is that beautiful little egg being hers. A loud whinny echoes from her kissers, energy flowing through every limb.
She has to keep running.
She must.
She has to win.
She keeps her head tucked, pushing herself even harder, working to overcome the figure just in front of her. Her hooves are barely grazing the sand now, her speed intensifying as does the magnetic pull. Push! Push! Come on! I need to get there! Whatever it is, I want to call it my own, I want to be able to claim it as mine. She pressed her harks harder against the back of her neck, an attempt to make herself more arodinamic. Her neck is now lined with sweat.
If feels like It's never going to end. Her body and mind want her to stop, But the will to reach the object is much too strong. With being lean and lanky, She sort of has an advantage, provided her long stride and how She can gracefully move her bodice, also, She had spent much time running in her wake, from here to there, for just plain fun, and of course fleeing from the wraiths (which She found herself doing much too often). Her age was also putting a good luck charm around her neck also, with young, fresh lungs, her stamina would be far better than that of a heavy, old soul.
Push. Push. Push. COME ON! Her muscles are screaming, telling her to stop, But She just can't.She screams right back at them, and they listen, a bolt of speed gaining her a bit more ground. Energy still pulses through her, adrenaline forcing her to keep those legs moving... And of course the tempting thought of winning pricks her stomach. But She is still running blindly, to a prize in which She does not know, But feels like She has to have. She replays the blue twinkle of light in her mind again, a smile captivating her maw. But She doesn't keep her mind off her hooves for more than a few moments, making certain that She doesn't concentrate to much on her thoughts, rather than the situation at hand. She has no knowledge to where She is running to, so She must run cleverly, keeping her focus centered on the prize and her balance, she urges on, eager to see the outcome of all this. This is no race... This is survival of the fittest, and the last one alive gets the treasure. She knows this place well, the sands familiar under her dainty hooves. But all She can do is pray. As She runs, She sends prayers up to the Gods. Please mighty ones... Give me strength. Please dear Gods give me stamina. But again, She is careful to remain concentrated on her footing and where She is placing each hoove, and keeping her senses alerted in case anyone would stumble and affect the path in which She was running. The sand beneath her feels loose, unstable, But She tried to ignore that fact, and hey, She has spent many moon's in the Blue, running, frolicking, so She is almost used to the traction She is getting, But She still feels a lag. Her heart beats rapidly. She encourages her legs to move faster, faster, and yet, She still isn't satisfied. She pushes harder, grunting with the effort. Oh please Gods, give me the courage and strength to at least finish this race... Please dear lords, I beg you to let power run through my veins...
Push, Push, Push, Lean muscles ripple under the sweat lined, chestnut coat. An idea sparks within her, the thought of well, I may need to pace myself is this race lasts for longer than suspected. She doesn't slow, But is careful to not Push herself to her limit, in case the race would be lengthy, She would have the energy to surge forward, and if it wasn't, She could give that last spirt of energy that could be the game changer. Slowly, She begins to enjoy the feeling of her locks flowing out behind her, the wind in her face, and her hooves pounding into the sand ruthlessly.
Abishia hooves for a Royal Kitsune with Dark Illusions. Wishlist posted above.
"blah blah blah."
ABISHIA
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