She was going to win.

But he didn't care. When she surged ahead his feet followed, big clumsy things over the sand answering an instinct he didn't understand and maybe wasn't meant to. Chase! Wind buffeted his fur, and after a certain number of strides he forgot why he cared so much about panting too obviously. Tongue lolled against his cheek.

He found a rhythm. It felt good.

And she may as well be miles away!

Nate laughed, pushing himself harder, tail wagging like a malfunctioned rudder behind him, Hey! How about a handicap, gimme a head start next ti—

Right! There was ice here, too! Eyes fixed on Mithwyth forgot that paws weren't made for skating, especially not at speed. A foreleg spun wildly off track and the rest of him followed, rolling full tilt into a newly-made crater of sand, and swallowing perhaps half of that.