tell that bitch to ride it like a stally

Towards the mountains.

---

The mountains loomed before him.

Distant, but grand in their height. Jagged outlines, standing before him. Reaching for the skies above.

On the ones closer, he could see the faint stretch of trees, dotting and lining the foothills. Bristle, and pine.

The river the only thing keeping him there.

He turned.

Further inland.

Catching sight of the man—tall, and pale, heavy, but not fat—and kept walking. Huffing, when he saw half his missing face, bare with no fur and instead only red, irritated, shiny skin.

Fuckface.

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He lunged first—

And he lunged second.

Snarling, open-mouthed, as he dove forward. Colliding, mid-air.

His teeth snapping shut on the first thing he could feel, blind.

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His teeth grabbed skin and fur, muscle and flesh—

And in return, teeth found his muzzle, his face, soft tissue and stinging nerve endings.

He snarled.

Reared.

Pulled.

Shaking his head to free his face, and put space between them.

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