[indent][indent][justify]Aramis moved at a steady, purposeful pace toward the narrow funnel of earth and fencing, the soft crunch of dew-damp soil beneath his boots the only sound accompanying him. The morning light still painted everything in a serene glow — drifting petals, rippling wheat, the faint hush of the breeze.

It would have been almost peaceful. Almost. A low tremor stirred behind him. He slowed. Another tremor. He frowned slightly, glancing back over his shoulder—and froze.

The Greatspurs were no longer meandering.They were bearing down on him, en masse, heads lowered, wattles flapping with violent enthusiasm, talons digging trenches in the earth as they thundered toward him like feathered siege engines fueled by pure homicidal hunger. Aramis inhaled sharply. His eyes widened. His entire posture stiffened in a singular instant of frozen, horrified realization. Then—

He bolted. Not with calm tactical intent. Not with dignified urgency. But with the desperate, high-speed, self-preserving sprint of a man who has just discovered that physics and poultry have united to kill him.

[color=536dfe]“NONONONONO—!”[/color]

His boots hammered the ground as he tore down the funnel, coat flapping wildly behind him like a banner of pure regret. The breathless thuds of pursuing turkey-titans shook the earth so violently he nearly stumbled on the uneven path. He did not look back again. He refused to look back again. Nothing good existed behind him anymore — only feathers, fury, and the worst death imaginable. The kill zone ahead suddenly felt like the most beautiful place he had ever seen.

[color=536dfe]“WHY ARE THEY SO FAST?!”[/color] he shouted to absolutely no one, voice cracking in a way he would later deny.

And so Aramis sprinted for his life — a lone, panicked projectile hurtling straight into the ambush point as the Greatspur horde thundered after him with murderous delight.[/justify][/indent][/indent]