for fenrir, everything is a race. he’s following close behind, following her movements with his own flair - mentally telling himself that he’s allowing her to lead since he’s unaware of the area.
it’s been a while since he’s run that far——
ㅤ
not cheating if it's not a race ! she's leading him through her usual route through the forest, hopping over large branches and roots; muscle memory.
he's up for a casual 10 kilometre run, right ?
ㅤ
/ sorry, my roommate was at the hospital last night so that’s where my mind was at. got an update this morning so i’m a little more comfortable being around now!
scoffs and rolls his eyes at the offer, arms crossing over his chest.
“it wasn’t my stomach,” he said. “even if it was, i wouldn’t take a sandwich from you.”
not everyone is like fen— wait, hey, that’s cheating! the god sprints after her, right behind her heels with an amused smirk tugging on his lips.
finally, some actual competition!
boy—dog that licks his own wounds, always has, always will do. boy—dog familiar with the taste of his own blood, with the cleaning of others' blood from where crusted under nails.