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The First Race emptystar emptystar emptystar emptystar emptystar


Eventually, Swiftfoot looked to you, and motioned for you to follow him. Taking you away from the group, he took hold of your arm and leaned in to speak to you privately. "They're from Brookhollow," he explained. "They're the most competitive cheetahs there are. Don't pay much attention to them, and don't take *any* of their advice. I know that should seem obvious, but it's happened before. They get under your skin and make you think you need their advice."

 

You nod to Swiftfoot and agree not to listen to them. Looking up into his eyes, you then decide to take a chance, stepping forward to give him a peck on the muzzle; seeing that one woman look at him like that definitely pushed you. He seems surprised, but quickly returns the peck, before giving you a curt all-business nod. "Let's win this race, eh?" A flashing smile, and your heart flutters.

 

When the 25 forearm sprint started properly, everyone lined up along the line in the ready pose; body in a lunge, leg behind, hands touching the ground, facing forward. You had been trained in this pose and for this sprint, and your body tensed; it made you marvel for a moment how different you were from before the suit. Toned muscles in your sleek frame, an energy like nothing before, and with training, the ability to look at a sprint like this and know at the end, you won't even feel close to spent.

 

One of the referees stood to the side, wearing a bright tunic that denoted his position, and the two large flat stone discs he rubbed together filled the silence. The rubbing came right before the signal, and you looked forward, down the sprint line.

 

The sound of grinding stone continued. Your heart was trying to beat its way out of your chest. You trained for this, you shouldn't be this nervous!

 

The grinding continued. It was only a moment, but it felt like forever. Why wouldn't he give the signal already?

 

CLACK! He slammed the stones together. In your anticipation, you stumble and are a second too late off the line. You curse at yourself mentally, looking at everyone ahead of you, but you push yourself forward. Paw followed paw, step followed step, and you found yourself outpacing many of the cheetahs from the smaller towns; of course, Swiftfoot was further ahead, and the Brookhollow cheetahs were shortly behind him, and shortly past you.

 

Even with your new body and new muscles, the speed was taxing. Every muscle strains as you push forward, more than you would in practice; you were determined to not let HER outpace him.

 

It was over in seconds, but to you it seemed like minutes. Swiftfoot was first past the line. SHE was second. You were fifth. You knew from the beginning you weren't well equipped for excelling, but the loss still burns. You weren't even right behind her, you came fifth. Not only that, but Swiftfoot laughs it off and walks over to shake her hand, though none of the other cheetahs were showing that kind of sportsmanship; you know the look between them.

 




Written by Lone Wolf on 07 June 2015


The end (for now)

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