[Thirty seconds? That's barely anything. It sounds almost threatening after the switch his mind has flipped, but that turns out to be all the motivation he needs to haul ass. He floats backwards with fingers held to the wall to trace his path, putting what speed he can into it, and doesn't even turn to face forward until he's put a solid gap between them. And where the fuck is the turn? He ends up pulling a feather from his ruff despite the sting of it, too impatient (too lacking in time) to comb through for a loose one.]
[Even after he finds the split in the path, he finds himself checking over his shoulder, ears straining, for any sign he's being followed.]
no subject
[Even after he finds the split in the path, he finds himself checking over his shoulder, ears straining, for any sign he's being followed.]