She has seen the movement of muscle in the sky, been caught in the breeze left behind by their wings. She follows the noise of laughter and fun, drawn to the joy as a moth to flame, enraptured by the shrill outcry of her peers. Onward they race, and she watches them jealously, longing for a world with her in the air, a reality where she might spread great wings and feel explosions of atmosphere beneath them. Others have gathered, watching the sport: few she can recognize; many she can't. She waits for the victors, pleased and proud when her herd mates pull into the lead, but does not draw near to offer congratulations. Instead, she prepares to slip away, a waif of a girl in the sea of a crowd.
She does not anticipate the declaration of the turtle, the announcement that it is her turn next. Hesitant, she flickers to the starting line, standing some bodies away from Lace, and when the creature cries Go! she is moments behind, legs moving sluggishly as she tries to comprehend just what she has gotten herself signed up for. Somewhere behind her Natraj howls; he has opted not to run, too small and to easily caught underfoot. Limbs surge uneasy, quickly finding their stride, and before the girl is fully aware a peal of laughter flies from her lips, drawn from her throat by the wind in her hair.
She feels Lace's magic spread out through the ground, and is able to avoid the uprising of roots, leaping indelicately over a particularly nasty bunch. The next surge of power is not familiar enough; trees part before a great orange beast, and then, how strange, return to the path. Staggered she swerves, narrowly avoiding the newly placed giants, unable to keep herself from stumbling, surprised. Still there is good which comes from this strange occurrence: she can feel the brute's power in her veins, and she thinks that perhaps it shall be useful later in the race.
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[O] :: Equine Cross Country Race ::
