Quad Riding Quotes

kill, peradventure, a fox, it follows that if the hounds veer onto a real scent and make a kill, no law has been broken. The huntsman who welcomed your columnist explained that, in practice, this means that before a hunt one of his helpers films himself laying a pretend scent-trail—by dragging a rag theoretically, but not actually, soaked in fox scent, from a quad bike—to provide evidence for a possible defence in court. Then the hunt goes out and hunts as it always has, but illegally. The police—one of whose officers was riding with the hounds that wintry day—understand this, but do not much care. Animal rights activists know it, and it makes them mad, but it is so hard to collect evidence of lawbreaking, in the form of video footage showing a huntsman urging hounds on to a fox, that prosecutions are rare. Only a couple of dozen huntsmen have been convicted for contravening the ban, for which they mostly received small fines.

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You’re really beautiful,” I blurt out. I cringe when she stops, turns to face me and smiles at me. My belly clenches and my dick notices how much I like her. “Thank you,” she says as she sits down on the end of the dock. She tugs her shoes and socks from her feet and shoves her socks inside the shoes. Her bare toes peek up at me and she sighs as she dips them in the water. She leans back on her palms and tips her face up to the sky. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she says without even looking at me. She breathes in and out through her nose, slowly. “Did you enjoy the ride?” She smiles and nods. “I want to do it some more. Like, all the time. Every day. All day.” She giggles and I find myself grinning with her. With me? Or does she just mean riding? I am afraid to ask. “Why did you come with me?” I ask instead. She tips her face toward me. “Because you asked me.” She snorts and then giggles. “Even though you only did it because I chased you down in the quad. I nearly tackled you.” She winces. “Sorry about that.” “Best thing that’s happened to me all day,” I say. Shit. Did I say that out loud? I sit beside her on the dock. “Me too,” she says quietly.

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Then Mack is beside me, gently turning me over. I stare up, still dazed and bewildered and shocked beyond all measure. “Oh fuck, angel. What did you do? What did you do?” “I…” My voice sounds weird. Kind of stretched and wobbly. “I saved you. Didn’t I?” Mack makes a strange sobbing sound and lowers his face briefly to my chest. “You did.” Then he’s pulling away my jacket and my shirt, searching for the wound. I can feel it burning on my side, and being exposed to the open air from Mack’s fumbling doesn’t make it any better. “Shit, it really hurts. I guess it’s bleeding. Are my guts hanging out?” He chokes on what might have been a huff of anxious amusement. “No. They’re definitely not. You’re bleeding but not as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe it didn’t get you too bad.” “Oh.” I’m focusing on taking deep breaths, trying to will the pain away so I can think more clearly. I’m hot and cold at the exact same time, and both my head and my chest are pounding violently. “Okay. So I’m not going to die?” “No!” He makes some weird, jerky motions, and it takes longer than it should for me to figure out he’s pulled off his T-shirt. He wads it up to hold it against the place that’s hurting on my side. “You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.” “Do you think you can stop it?” I’m genuinely curious since he sounded so certain. “Yes. I don’t think you got shot too bad, but even if it’s bad, I’m gonna fix it. You’re not gonna die now. Not when I just got you for real. I’m not gonna let it happen. Not while I’m alive.” While he’s muttering out the hoarse words, he’s working on me, checking my side again and then moving my hand so I’m holding his bundled shirt to the wound myself. “Hold this right here. I’ll be right back.” “You’re leaving me?” I ask the words in a groggy blur since I have no clear idea what’s happening. “Course not. Just need somethin’ to wrap you up.” I don’t know what this means. I consider telling him I don’t need to be wrapped up because I’m as hot as I am cold even though I’ve started to shiver. But I don’t get the words out, and it doesn’t end up mattering because he returns with another one of his shirts. This one he wraps like a sash tightly around my middle, so snugly it holds his wadded T-shirt in place. “There’s first aid stuff at the cabin. I need to get you there so I can fix you up better. You think you can get up?” He sounds so upset and stressed I wouldn’t dream of telling him no. “I can do it.” My words are more confident than is warranted by my condition. I do make an attempt, but it’s mostly Mack lifting my full weight on his own and then carrying me over to the quad. He considers various options for positions, but there’s no safe way for us both to ride this thing except in the normal arrangement with me behind him. So he helps me get on and then climbs on in front of me, pulling my arms around him.