doggo: (50)
serious bloke ([personal profile] doggo) wrote in [community profile] nysalogs 2017-09-26 05:04 am (UTC)

[Padfoot is there, of course, dogging Prongs' hooves. What he lacks in length of leg and stride, he makes up for in concentration and spirit--head low, ears tucked back to streamline him, covering as much ground as he can in each bound. He does not know where he is going, so he gives Prongs the lead for a bit, careful to keep up, to close the gap between them so he can put on a burst of speed at the last moment.

Scents are flickering to life in the corridors as they run. Chill clinical smell of the ship, the pods, whatever is in the pods which plays hell on canine senses, something that he cannot recognise--and little ribbons of smell, dull because he does not know them, strangers that have come and gone, crossed and recrossed--and there is the James smell, and the Prongs smell, but that's because Prongs is in front of him, and Padfoot tries to unbraid the James smell even as he tries to keep pace with a bloody running stag--

And all the while his tail is wagging, his heart is playing a happy high rhythm in his chest. He is the happiest; this is the happiest. Running with Prongs. There is nothing better, nothing nothing nothing, and if he could spare the breath to bark, he would.

Instead, he puts on a burst of speed, just to try to show off.]

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