Then, by silent mutual agreement, they started running. Samson wasn't really running of course, but even so he easily loped ahead of Tsvetka's laboured progress. Once in a while he'd return to nudge the back of her shins with an wet, worried nose.
This is no time to dawdle, he seemed to be saying. He'd dropped the mangled bird corpse some time ago, but that didn't stop him from sending reproachful and deeply significant glances back at the distant malevolent cloud. They're getting closer.
"I'm doing my best," Tsvetka panted. She paused for a precious moment, gasping for a breath of the air which was rapidly filling with soot. The cheetah gave her sweaty face a forgiving lick, leaving a white trail on the grimy skin.
back of the shins? =calves:)
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