Crossing

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Throughout all of the life-flashing-before-your-eyes-syndrome striking like lightening through your brain, you never think to roll until the very last moment

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Throughout all of the life-flashing-before-your-eyes-syndrome striking like lightening through your brain, you never think to roll until the very last moment.

In fact, the alien buffalo is 5.27 seconds away from crushing you when you finally throw yourself to the side, rolling with your whole body and bringing with you a wake of metal-colored leaves.  The breath huffs out of you as your shoulder crunches into the ground, pain begging you to stop there with your face in the dirt, but you force yourself to do a full rotation and land on your back. 

Just as you clear it, the space you were just occupying is churned into an angry sea of soil as the buffalo stomps it up, tossing its head so its third horn almost impales a passing alien. It bellows angrily, scaly ears flickering and eyes rolling as it bucks and stamps nervously. The dangerous horns whipping back and forth make the crowd avoid confrontation with a wide berth.

Taking advantage of the space, you can finally push yourself to your feet with your bound hands.

Your entire body is smarting with bruises, but you can't think about that now. The buffalo is still angry, and you're still in range.

Even now, while you wobble trying to find balance, its eyes focus in again on you - a moving target for its dumb animal rage.

The buffalo rears again, tossing its head as it prepares to charge you.

Its hoof scrapes the dirt, its horns pierce the air, and it...just...

Stops moving.

Its horns lower.

Its eyes halt their fearful flickering.

Pitifully, it lows.

"Are you alright?" a strained voice asks. "I can't hold him still for very long. Go!"

A man appears around the massive side of the buffalo, his hand braced on its armored hide. Although his eyes are closed in apparent concentration, it's clear that his words are directed at you.

But you can't go.

You stay, and you freaking stare at him.

This man is more perfect than anything you've seen before - neither the golden-skinned angel or the flaming-haired fire breather can touch the sheer, elegant perfection of his face. 

His skin is pearly in color, a kind of cream-grey-goldy shade illuminated from beneath with pink undertones, as if he's made of mother of pearl. Soft pink hair falls like cherry blossoms around his face, framing the gentle curve of his pink bow-shaped lips and the sweet, feathery crescents of his closed eyes.

His fingers rest lightly on the buffalo's skin in a soothing manner, the simple touch calming the animal so it no longer pays attention to the roaring of Servus around it. Instead, it begins to gently munch on a mound of leaves, eyes lazy with contentment.

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