It's too easy to bust straight into a sprint once his feet hit hard packed ground, thankfully with a group of people already holding themselves and three kids in varying higher heights out of the way of the man bulldozing straight over the bridge like its a cakewalk.

Which it isn't. Skipping even a single board means having to be perfectly sure. Going even that fast means having to control it perfectly. Where on his foot he hits. That he has land and take off of each step balanced, so he does hook a toe between in landing, or before in take off. Tightens shoulders, drags out awhile new level of requisitioned focus.

Funnel off every sound and distraction away from any part that isn't planning and foot work.

Making it slam like a flood of water or avast gust of wind when his shoes slap the ground this time. A broad flush of success that allows him to realize he didn't. Again. For the first time in months. But still. Take that swoop of victory and shove it and himself right back into fast, fiercer steps.

Glancing back to catch Cath at a jog, doing her best to keep up. Even here. There. The bridge. The people staring at them in wide eyed gamut, from awe to shocked annoyance, as she followed off of it. Getting faster herself. Which get her a flash of a smile, wide and victory bright, before he's forcing himself to get his head back in the game. Steps. Gravity. The bounce and slam of the ball of his foot.

The way the ground is coming at them, leveling out, fast.

But not fast enough. Heart pounding because right here, all he wants is more.

Faster. Higher. Harder. To keep going, like it could never end, never all come back.