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The Burned Handler
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I used to be a handler like you, then I turned into a horse.
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You didn't get where Cris was in his sport without developing excellent reflexes. You needed to be able to react in an instant to pick off a runner or catch a fly ball, or to get your bat near an opposing pitch. Compared to a baseball, which could be moving at times nearly a hundred miles an hour, Jane's stumble was in slow motion. He moved forwards, jostling the rock out of his path with a quick little sweep of his foot, and caught her with one arm across her midsection. Not too hard, only enough to arrest her forward momentum; he didn't want to knock the wind out of her after all, only to stop her fall. He stayed there for a moment, letting her stabilise herself against him if she chose and enjoying the feeling of her weight, before lowering his arm and stepping back.

"You all right, there?"

It wasn't like Jane to stumble like that, she was usually much more sure-footed. Maybe the heat was getting to her - he'd lived in this desert all his life but it still bugged him now and then, sunk into his muscles and threatened to slow his reflexes. After they finished the trail he'd make sure they hurried to somewhere with air conditioning, maybe. That, of course, was still a couple hours away, but maybe if they picked up the pace a little.
MurderWeasel getting impatient
Hiya, jerk! Please don't post until edits have been completed, as doing so causes confusion/messes up the queue.

18:48 Ruggawork I have faith in you!
18:48 Ruggawork and your ass!

16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Iktor?
16:35 Kilmarnock Maybe Toben.
16:35 Kilmarnock hard to tell until they make out with me.
16:35 *** mib_6brm7d is now known as Irene

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Walkabouts · Memories from the Past