that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
He comes from a family of runners.
Not because they were particularly athletic—although his stride is wide and he eats up the earth with a gathering speed—but because they were always chased. Chased by their own bad decisions. By the ache of their heart. By their hunger. By their own demons. The thought makes his lips twist into a wry smile.
He was the demon now.
There was no outrunning him.
But it doesn’t matter. He runs anyway. Runs as his lungs burn and his muscles protest. He could ease that, he thinks. Could relax his body intentionally, but he likes the pain. Likes the bite of it as it grips him. Likes the way that it sharpens his focus. Makes each and every step intentional. He would not take that away from himself for the sake of something easy. He did not run like this for the ease of it.
When he hears the twin sound of footsteps that begin to match his own, he exhales sharply but does not veer off course. He pulls back slightly and then plunges forward, shadows nipping at his heels and sweat beginning to work a froth under his tangled mane. He sends the darkness toward her as they go. Lets it explode off of him in reaching tendrils, reaching for her in the space between them. It is a needy touch.
A demanding one.
They whip toward her and writhe around her legs. Race up her back.
He grins into the wind that picks up and lets his magic wind down the shadows toward her too. Gifts her with more speed. More endurance. Even more than she was naturally blessed with.
He presses onward, the exhaustion not yet outpacing all that he was running from.
He pushes his magic into her once more.
Keep up, he thinks as he grits his teeth. Don’t stop now.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
@[Wishbone]