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08-26-2014, 06:36 AM
so make me your deadman, with only poison in my veins,
stuck in your wonderland,
stagnated by the passivity, I'm gonna make you b l e e d like me;
The ground leveled out beneath his feet and brought immense relief to wearied and strained muscles. No longer having to fear that one misplaced step would send him tumbling down the slope the unicorn relaxed, breathing deeply in the gratitude of being returned to his own familiar shape. Even as he began to take out the steps and part slightly from the mass so that he could run without bumping into others, he realized that he was among the last in the group. It was a glum situation, his chances of recovering and take a lead position were far from good; the most likely turn of events would be for the rest of the pack to move ahead of him.
He couldn't say he honestly cared at this point. Most of his original fighting spirit was gone, only a stubborn refusal to give up kept him from just stopping then and there and call it quits. The stag didn't think he had any chance of winning - but hell if he was going to come limping in at last place either!
Sucking in a deep breath he forced his tired legs to move, picking up the pace from the stumbling, hopping trot he'd unconsciously adapted into a canter, one that slowly, gradually forced itself into a sprint. The deep chest heaved, sweat beaded on the black coat and in every crease and dent of the big body lather started to form. Strictly speaking he was not built for this type of thing; his form was one of explosive speed over short distances, of nimble agility in narrow spaces. But his fathers blood ran hot and stubborn, brought reluctant endurance and resilience into the long limbs. Snorting the masked stag stretched out the neck and leaned into the run, no fucks given to where he placed his feet or whom he might bump into; his sole intent was on gaining, overtaking and maintaining distance from those who came behind him; he refused to be last across that finish line, and that was all there was to it.
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WC: 345
Ooc: does his best to maintain position and gain slightly, refusing to be last.
chaoticmelodies & larfsalot @deviantart | subtlepatterns.com
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