The ground is solid, even if they are kicking up the top layer of loose dirt and old volcanic rock.
Dashing to the sides of those stopping to wipe a brow, or hand children water bottles. Both which he just passed, with a single callout from being on their right, stepping off the steps, onto hard, rolling ground to get past them, without slowing down. Not giving her the pleasure of the few seconds of delay that would have added. Even when he isn't tossing everything out and barreling at it like it was life or death to get there as fast as possible, shortest route as possible.
Put it together, push it through. Keep his eyes open and the feet hitting the ground at the same pace and places when he can. Keep his eyes on the steps in front of him, and the people in the closest group. But not the top. Keep pushing his muscles. Feeling the burn of muscles in his leg, stretch and catching, stretch and catch, along with the continually solid smack of the ground.
Getting caught up in the weight rush that is half of it, too, between one step and the next, continuing to throw himself further forward.
Compact, arms at ninety degree angles and compact, fast but tight movements of even them, when he's leaning into it. It can't even be half left now. He does allow himself to look over his shoulder, and to check in on her, judging steps and keeping himself ready for the steps as he's tossing glances that way. Making sure he isn't leaving her too far behind.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-27 05:57 pm (UTC)Dashing to the sides of those stopping to wipe a brow, or hand children water bottles. Both which he just passed, with a single callout from being on their right, stepping off the steps, onto hard, rolling ground to get past them, without slowing down. Not giving her the pleasure of the few seconds of delay that would have added. Even when he isn't tossing everything out and barreling at it like it was life or death to get there as fast as possible, shortest route as possible.
Put it together, push it through. Keep his eyes open and the feet hitting the ground at the same pace and places when he can. Keep his eyes on the steps in front of him, and the people in the closest group. But not the top. Keep pushing his muscles. Feeling the burn of muscles in his leg, stretch and catching, stretch and catch, along with the continually solid smack of the ground.
Getting caught up in the weight rush that is half of it, too, between one step and the next, continuing to throw himself further forward.
Compact, arms at ninety degree angles and compact, fast but tight movements of even them, when he's leaning into it. It can't even be half left now. He does allow himself to look over his shoulder, and to check in on her, judging steps and keeping himself ready for the steps as he's tossing glances that way. Making sure he isn't leaving her too far behind.