It is when he grows close enough to my chest that I can feel his breath that a hiss of a growl comes crawling from my throat. Instinctively, I step back and away, but he persists. It is time, I suppose, to relinquish my prize. With a thrust, I shove his head down and away, giving myself that split moment to break free from him and place some foot or two of distance between us. There is still a subtle feeling of heat over my chest, his teeth having clipped the flesh just moments before I had taken my distance.

I do not have time to inspect whatever he might have done, however. Instead, I rush him, moving my trajectory just barely so that I might come at him from an angle. My leg quivers and burns, yes, but is it but fuel for my desires. I can feel the muscle wavering, my three other limbs picking up where it cannot take off. It is an awkward gait, yes, uncomfortable but necessary.

As I rush him, I lower my head. I intend to ram my shoulders into his rib cage, shoving my weight upwards and toppling him to the dirt. Whatever the measure, I will put him on the ground and when I do, I will take the greatest prize of them all and put an end to his own hopes. It is necessary. It is but a part of life. I am simply enacting nature's will.