we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight
The lynx moved the instant the bowstring snapped. This form always felt like slipping into something inevitable. The world sharpened. Every sound crisped at the edges. He could hear her exhale clearly. Instinct took hold of Noah’s body, pulling him low and sharp to the right as the arrow sliced through the space where his shoulder had been a heartbeat before. It hissed past his ear, but did not touch him. Gravel scattered beneath his paws as he pivoted, the shift smooth, practiced and elegant.
Ears pinned forward, muscles coiled, he circled wide, offering her a moving target that dared her to keep up. He didn’t run in a straight line, though. Instead he darted in a weaving pattern, quick bursts of motion punctuated by sudden, staccato pauses that let him read her posture for the briefest of moments. Eyes sharp and quick, usually following the speediest hares the same color as snow across the tundra and through the Greenwing. Today, he was determined to let instinct outpace memory.
[1/4]
Ears pinned forward, muscles coiled, he circled wide, offering her a moving target that dared her to keep up. He didn’t run in a straight line, though. Instead he darted in a weaving pattern, quick bursts of motion punctuated by sudden, staccato pauses that let him read her posture for the briefest of moments. Eyes sharp and quick, usually following the speediest hares the same color as snow across the tundra and through the Greenwing. Today, he was determined to let instinct outpace memory.
[1/4]
NOAH
