She held on for dear life; Mick raced joyfully down the hill towards the flats. She screamed, “Slow Down!” but Mick didn’t seem to hear.
They’d be close enough to radio in, tell the Vill they were coming, but she didn’t dare let go of Mick’s blue-green mane to reach for her Talkie. If she fell now, that would be the end of her.
She yelled again, “Mick! Slow down!”
The immense creature relaxed its gait. “Sorry, Bay! Down hill, fun!” Mickajahrish enjoyed his job, but sometimes forgot he had a rider, and had to be reminded: Earthers were fragile.
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