[[ from The Enfolding Abyss: Prologue ]]
Sometimes she called the race, other times he did. She knew the hallways turns a little better, so he had the feeling when she called an unexpected snap, it would be a good one.
Straightaways were always fair, and fun since their races weren’t necessarily clean, including shoving, windmilling, and weird stepping. Sometimes his six-year advantage was no advantage at all, her light feet seeming not to touch the ground, gaining over his awkwardly growing stride. A straight hallway meant they could see when there was no traffic ahead. It was like puppies crossing the kitchen floor, puppies that got faster and faster.