Outpacing the roaming clouds was a simple task, and allowed her the freedom to dance and spin, raising her voice to crow as the scarred man leapt over a pile of driftwood. His lead changed, and his gait- seeing him tuck in and bolt flew the hackles at the base of her neck and with her short tail flagging like that of a white-tailed deer, she fled. Her buoyant step was not that of a wolf running in fear, but of one who sought to allow her companion to close the gap between them- so she could then match his pace, and streak along the beach at his side. So airy was her spirit that she misjudged his pace completely- and her own capability of accelerating smoothly- and when he breezed past she had to scramble to catch up.

He raced with the power of a thoroughbred, his long, ground-devouring stride left sparse footprints in the sand behind him. Cecily, on the other hand, a whippet- her short, fleet strides sent her surging forward twice for each of his though they moved at the same speed.

One cloudburst was left behind, like an upset toddler dragging its feet- but ahead, another one loomed. This one, she hoped to chase and catch. She barked, a high pitched noise squeaked out between her rapid strides, and thrust her freckled nose toward the heart of the downpour ahead.