#Chapter51
Gleeful and giddy, squealing loudly, he ran. Fast and hard. Happy and free. But no shoes and socks along a shell-poked beach, and laughter that tore through him so hard he could barely breathe, well they conspired. He tripped. Lay there in a wheezing, gasping little heap. And when arms scooped him up, yanking him to his feet, a deep, rustic melody of a laugh joined his own.
/"Gottcha now, you lil shit,/" Raven teased, scooping him off his feet and capturing him in a fireman's lift. /"Make me, I believe your words were, right?/"
Fighting against him was more amusing than it was effective, and every wriggle, every push, every soft smack to the toned back his head kept smacking against, it was like trying to bend steel with nothing but chopsticks.
