Fang
Active member
Point State Park was as scenic in autumn as it was in the spring or summer. The bright splashes of the maples’ reds and oranges stood out against the bright greens of the cedars and pines, and though here and there piles of fallen foliage had been raked into piles the entire park was as picturesque as a post card. Nat had taken to stopping by the park after school to run around the lake. By the time he made it there from school there were rarely many people around, giving a sense of privacy and a connection to the nature around him that one could hardly find on city streets.
His running technique was unconventional, to say the least. He had several friends on the track team, and they trained themselves according to the event they competed in. The sprinters would push their speed to extremes on short laps, the distance runners would jog for hours. Nat’s requirements landed somewhere between, the task of chasing after criminals requiring speed and endurance in equal parts and spontaneous bursts of all-out effort. To better prepare for this Nat ran in a full sprint, as far around the lake as he could, to push his endurance at his maximum further.
When he was winded he would walk, to catch his breath and to take in his surroundings. To center himself as his heart pounded in his chest. The rush of endorphins would come in waves of exhaustion and exhilaration, and in those moments he slowed and took in the scenery the world was practically aglow.
It was probably his third lap around the lake or so, he never kept track of anything more than his own exhaustion during these runs, that he noticed the large, shaggy forms of the wolfhounds near a wide oak. The leaves of the tree had only just began to turn, and in the setting sunlight its branches cast a monumental shadow across the ground. He supposed that he hadn’t noticed the dogs before because they had been laying in that shadow, but with his runner’s high giving everything a sparkling edge he couldn’t help but notice them as he walked by.
Nor could he help but notice the shaggy man between them, clearly their owner if the adage was true. He was large, hairy, and most importantly asleep. Nat knew better than to approach with such stalwart guardians at the man’s side, but he felt the need to wale the man as the sun sank ever lower in the sky. The police had a tendency to patrol the park once the sun went down, and if they found any vagrants trying to use a bench as a bed they would promptly shoo them away; sometimes even in cuffs. He could only assume they would treat this man the same.
Nat knelt on the path, sinking to one knee with his hand outstretched toward the nearest dog. He had only brought a small amount of jerky with him, but it would hopefully be enough to gain the hounds’ friendships and trust so he could get to their master. ”C’mere, boy,” he called out, taking the fifty-fifty chance that he got the gender wrong. He certainly wasn’t going to get any closer to check.
His running technique was unconventional, to say the least. He had several friends on the track team, and they trained themselves according to the event they competed in. The sprinters would push their speed to extremes on short laps, the distance runners would jog for hours. Nat’s requirements landed somewhere between, the task of chasing after criminals requiring speed and endurance in equal parts and spontaneous bursts of all-out effort. To better prepare for this Nat ran in a full sprint, as far around the lake as he could, to push his endurance at his maximum further.
When he was winded he would walk, to catch his breath and to take in his surroundings. To center himself as his heart pounded in his chest. The rush of endorphins would come in waves of exhaustion and exhilaration, and in those moments he slowed and took in the scenery the world was practically aglow.
It was probably his third lap around the lake or so, he never kept track of anything more than his own exhaustion during these runs, that he noticed the large, shaggy forms of the wolfhounds near a wide oak. The leaves of the tree had only just began to turn, and in the setting sunlight its branches cast a monumental shadow across the ground. He supposed that he hadn’t noticed the dogs before because they had been laying in that shadow, but with his runner’s high giving everything a sparkling edge he couldn’t help but notice them as he walked by.
Nor could he help but notice the shaggy man between them, clearly their owner if the adage was true. He was large, hairy, and most importantly asleep. Nat knew better than to approach with such stalwart guardians at the man’s side, but he felt the need to wale the man as the sun sank ever lower in the sky. The police had a tendency to patrol the park once the sun went down, and if they found any vagrants trying to use a bench as a bed they would promptly shoo them away; sometimes even in cuffs. He could only assume they would treat this man the same.
Nat knelt on the path, sinking to one knee with his hand outstretched toward the nearest dog. He had only brought a small amount of jerky with him, but it would hopefully be enough to gain the hounds’ friendships and trust so he could get to their master. ”C’mere, boy,” he called out, taking the fifty-fifty chance that he got the gender wrong. He certainly wasn’t going to get any closer to check.
