It was important to take every advantage given to you in the wild. Survival meant making the most of what you had, especially at the cost of others.

A cheetah prowled through the grass, sending a snake the size of her ear scurrying. Sometimes there was grass, sometimes there wasn't. It liked to grow in patches, like the remaining fur of prey that escaped capture. Up ahead was a gazelle, nuzzling his head against a tall stalk. He must have had his nostrils plugged to not smell the markings of the cheetahs here -- hers, and the nearby male's. The gazelle must have been deaf too; if she could hear his breathing, he should have heard hers too.

The cheetah crouched, then pounced at the gazelle. That got his attention. He left the stalk and ran away, like he should have done before. He was barely out of reach, but any second now, she would get him.

He was fast -- and observant, too. Whenever she sped up, so did he, staying a hair out of tripping range. Still, this should be a shorter chase than most of her other kills.

The gazelle darted to the left, but that was no deterrent. The cheetah flicked her tail out, dug into the dirt with her claws, and turned, losing little speed. Compared to the gazelle, she had taken the turn instantly, but somehow, he was still so tantalizingly close...

The ground here was harder on the cheetah's paws. She looked down. Instead of a bare patch of dirt, it was gray, like stone. There weren't any rocks or caves here, only dirt, grass, and the occasional tree for miles. She would have known this was here long ago when she had first called this range her home.

The stone continued in an unbroken line, a path. Keeping her pace up, the cheetah took a glance backwards.

The path continued in the direction she had come. Wasn't she just on dirt? She couldn't recall. She put her attention back to the gazelle. Her head suddenly began hurting, but she didn't stop running.

Her heart and lungs pumped furiously. This gazelle had to be teasing her, but she would catch him soon. Few animals could outlast a cheetah.

He darted again -- this time, to the right. For a moment, the cheetah was back on normal ground, but she felt the stone again after a few steps. The gazelle was following another road. Road? Whatever it was, he was getting closer to the male cheetah's territory with each step. The male tried to keep the other males out, but he was okay with her going in. Sometimes, he even let her kill his own prey. How nice of him, sharing...

No wonder why her head was pleading -- she kept it pointed forward, straining her neck, instead of letting it look down. She stared at the stone road, and the base of her skull slid across her neck before clicking into place. Relief came instantly.

This was no way to run. Who ever heard of someone running when they couldn't see where they were going? The cheetah pushed off the road with her forepaws the next time they made contact, then stood up on two legs. Everyone knew the right way to run: one arm forward, same leg backward; she had been taught as a cub. Her joints -- a part of her said wrists and elbows, and another said ankles and knees -- cracked as she got into form, as if they hadn't moved that way in a long time. If you couldn't run, how were you supposed to help get food for the village?

The gazelle stood upright, too, his horns reaching for the clouds. Why was that a big deal? Only feral animals ran on all-fours. Had the gazelle always stood up? Just a moment ago, the cheetah had seen him on his hands and feet, but... what for? She needed to stop thinking during the chase.

The cheetah saw something flash in the distance: the male cheetah. Instead of his scent coming to her mind, there was a word: Brian. A few years ago, the males had put aside their differences and agreed to--

No, they didn't. He owned this... this... what was the word?

The cheetah squelched that thought. There was no reason for someone to live alone and shun others away; it made living harder.

Brian towered over the grass, showing off his pattern of spots. He stuck out an arm and waved. Clara -- the name hit her like running into a tree -- did the same, and she felt a tug on her fingers, like the breeze was trying to take them. He growled something, and she growled back. Hopefully he got the message; she would talk to him after her run. Even when working out, she and her partner -- Tom, that was the gazelle's name -- going as fast as they could sustain, the grass and trees seemed to pass so slowly.

Too slowly.

She was supposed to be sprinting on her four legs, flying through the air, the landscape zipping past while her eyes remained locked on her target, her prey, the gazelle...

Clara needed to relax, as much as she could while on a run. She focused on her breathing, driving away the food-obsessed thoughts that belonged in a bird or a reptile. With each inhale, she felt a bit lighter, and with each exhale, her ribcage flattened -- but it had always been like that; she was a person, a mammal, not a four-legged beast.

She took a look behind her. The village was hard to make out in the distance. The road would end soon, and it wouldn't be good to get lost.

"Hey, Tom!" she shouted.

He stopped, then licked his hand and ran it though the fur between his horns.

"Want to head back? We're getting awfully far away."

"Good idea," Tom said. Clara looked at her hand, and the bracelet around her wrist. She always wore it, even while asleep. It meant something, something important...

She ran the infirmary, looking after people who had gotten injured while out of the village. "I think the heat is getting to me." Having trouble remembering who you were was a sign of that. "How far did we go today?"

"I think twelve miles." They ran up and down the roads instead of circling the village so their fellow villagers would see them and get encouraged to get stronger, faster, but they were currently way too far out to be useful. "Do you need a minute?"

"We'll see how I feel back in the village." Clara itched around her left dewclaw. The other one itched too, but she couldn't get both at once. There was a bump under each claw, like she had been bitten by flies, but the bumps were growing out, taking the dewclaws with them. Clara opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Her eyes had played tricks; she was looking at her thumbs.

Clara and Tom started up again, and the splotches on the horizon became huts. Clara caught a whiff of smoke; she wondered if another lizard was being cooked, or if it was a vulture an archer took down.

A giraffe ran toward them, even taller than Tom. It was amazing he didn't topple in the wind. "Clara! Tom! Hurry! Don fell from his roof, and he can't use his leg! He's at his house--"

"I'll be there."

"Me too," Tom said. The three of them sprinted, but Clara and Tom quickly left the giraffe behind.

Clara and Tom broke through the blanket in front of the hut. A few people were gathered around Don but opened up to let Clara through. Tom stood with the rest of the crowd.

Don, another giraffe, lay on his bed. One of his feet stuck out and puffed up where it met the rest of the leg. Since he had hooves, Clara couldn't ask him to wiggle his toes.

"Tom. You're the quickest of all of us here. Go to the infirmary hut and bring me one set of the splint supplies."

Tom nodded, then sprinted out as the first giraffe came in, panting.

"You fell off your roof?"

Don grunted and nodded 'yes'.

Gently, Clara pulled the foot toward her, but by Don's pained humming, it didn't feel gentle. A zebra in the crowd offered her hand, which Don took. Even though hoofed people only had two fingers per hand, some of them had the strength to crush a brick.

With the muscles stretched, Clara put pressure on the ankle. Don whooped and squeezed the zebra's hand for dear life. It took a few seconds for the foot to straighten, but to Don, it must have been hours. When Clara let go, so did Don, and the ankle remained in place. Tom came back, halting right before hitting the bed.

"Try to stay still," Clara said, then took the sticks and cloth from Tom's hands. After lining up the sticks with the leg, she wrapped the cloth tightly, going above and below the heel. "This will keep your ankle in place. Even when it's done swelling, the inside of your foot will still be hurt, maybe even broken. Though you may walk again soon, it will be many weeks before you can run."

"Thank you," Don said, trembling, "but how am I going to eat?"

Tom raised his hand. "I have plenty of food."

"So do I," an antelope announced.

"And I," a hyena said.

"Oh! You all have saved my life! Thank you!"

Clara smiled. It was important to not take advantage of those who were less fortunate. Surviving comfortably meant looking out for others, even if it meant giving up something.