Satotz Running Novels & Stories

"Anyway, you should come watch us practice." "Practice what?" "Football, obviously, that's why we're dressed like this. We're on the team." Sashka turned to his brother and hit his chest lightly with the back of his hands, "Moron, they call it soccer here." I smiled at that, "Oh, you two are in the football team too? I heard you have a game coming up soon." They smiled and nodded in sync. "That's right," one said. "Who told you?" the other asked. "Thomas Sato."

As he stood by the window, looking out of it, his back to Damon, asking the girl's question, he looked at the road, and he thought: "Holy fuck" "What?" Damon called. There was the guy they were looking for, running down the road, running in a zigzag in case there was a shooter overhead. At one point, he turned, seeing Derinem at the window, and threw a middle finger at him. "Damon, he's getting away." Without waiting for a response, he jumped down from the window. Jumping down stories, his hands supporting himself on the rail before he landed on the ground on his hands and feet.

Still running, Motus huffed and puffed the more he ran through the snow. His ears up and alert but he never heard the howls get closer as he got farther away from Atzi. He suddenly stops and thinks. After running for a good 10 minutes, Motus realized that they never followed him. "So, if I'm not the target...then who..is..?" Motus couldn't believe it. This was a first.

40:00:00 Seth cursed as he sped ahead. He was running as fast as he could. He wasn't following a scent; he knew exactly where he was going. Nate and Logan sped alongside him. Their adrenaline pulsed as they made quick time. They ran for hours, stopping for brief rests and water before pushing on. They knew where their mates were, and they knew there weren't many places to hide along the canyon. If they could only make it in time, they would find the girls and catch them.

Said Host Karpenko. Looks Athes looks smiling then said to Santos. "Should we do this?" Said Athes. "What do you mean ?" Santos asked. "I give you time to give up before you regret it" Said Athes. "You are so arrogant, you are a new kid, okay. I will finish you very quickly so feel it boy" said Santos. When Santos wanted to move to attack Athes, Santos suddenly couldn't move and got tremendous pressure on him. "What will happen will the viewers appear that Santos is just silent as well as Athes but it can be seen from Santos' face that it looks very depressed" Said Host Karpenko.

I went back in line and practiced resume. ***** As I'm hydrating with a bottle of water at the end of the practice, Sookies dashes into the gymnasium, out of breath. "Why are you running like a mad woman?" says Amber. "He's out there." Sookie tries to catch her breath. "Who?" asked Amber. "Him." Sookie puts a hand on her chest to steady her heart rate. "Tell me his name." Amber's irritated. "Nate." "He's at the water fountain."

“There’s Policarpio, streaking like a rocket. He’s putting a considerable lead on his opponent.” Nate produces the same effect he did in the previous races. Almost everyone jumps to their feet and looks on slack-jawed. There’s just something magical and graceful in the way he runs. He indeed has Usain Bolt’s relaxed and easy-going aura. And the highly optimized but natural strides of a gazelle. He’s the epitome of a man at his prime. “Whooo!” somebody screams. “Look at him go!” “Bro’s the real Sonic!” Rintaro shouts.

“That’s my boy!!” I snorted. “He’s not your anything.” She ignored me, her blue eyes bright with excitement. Talia leaned over and murmured, “is he yours then?” I half-smiled despite the dread pooling in my gut. 🜃 By noon the run ended, Atlas crossing the finish line first. He shifted back into human form quickly, conjuring dark woven training pants with a flick of his claw-marked hand. Sweat gleamed along his throat and collarbones. Nova ran down from the stands, nearly tripping over her own feet to fling a towel at him.

“We’ve got roots to awaken, legs to build, and trauma to induce. Now MOVE.” “Trauma?” “Oh, don’t be dramatic. Just run like it’s your last day alive.” Run? Before I could argue, a whistle blew—Potato had conjured a tiny air horn—and every vegetable around me screamed in unison: “GOOOO!! Of course. I changed into dark joggers and running shoes then I stumbled, still slept, hair wild, blanket flapping like a toga caught in battle wind, as I was herded down the garden path by aggressive roots and motivational insults.

“Fine, but save me one of you doing something cute on that board later.” She cartwheeled away. Literally. I slipped through the chain-link gate that separated the practice field from the real one. The mist was already thick tonight—rolling off Lake Hamilton in slow-motion waves, tasting like pennies and cotton candy. It clung to my platinum hair until the ends dripped like I’d been swimming. Remy Tsatoke was throwing spirals to the wide receiver, braid whipping each time he planted. The scar on his throwing arm caught the stadium lights—silver spiral, same shape as the tattoo behind my ear. I lifted the camera, zoomed.