Beachbrook
“I uh… from Beachbrook,” you say, spouting out the first name that came to your mind.
“Haven’t heard.”
“It’s really far away,” you stammer out, feeling your tail twitch in irritation. They notice the tail and move on.
“Well,” says the eldest, “My name is Far-Runner, ‘cause I’ve been out quite a ways, and I know some places ain’t like ours. Don’t be worried, Sue, you’re welcome here.”
“I’m Herder,” says the one in his 30s while giving you a nod. “Mostly do the huntin’ and herdin’ ‘round here.”
You nod, not thinking of what else to do. After a moment of awkward silence, Swiftfoot speaks up again, “So, you here for the race?”
Deciding immediately that that’s a good explanation as any, your questioning look immediately falls to a fake smile and quick nod of your head. “Yes! I heard there was a race here.”
He nods, smirking. “Thought so. Elkbank isn’t known for much, but we got the Spring Race.” He looks you up and down. “You look like you’ve been preparing, too. You sign up yet?”
You hadn’t thought much of it before, but you realize now that your body is quite fit; the muscles lean and hidden under the fur, but obviously still visible to someone that knows what to look for. “Um… not yet. Where do I go for that?”
“Here, I’ll show ya.”
Written by Lone Wolf on 03 June 2015