Run. Soft cushion of earth, familiar tingle of every pine needle, every anthill. Wind a sweet melody as it sluices through my fur; heart, mind, soul at ease, united in exerting my body.
Not, for the first time, because I am running after or away from something; simply to run. What could I run from, now? Would do I need to chase, now?
She is here. My Mate. Elena.
Sure, her lips say she isn't staying, but the beating of her heart says otherwise. Beside me, beneath me, or miles away, the rhythm of her pulse and mine: perfect symphony.