"We probably have time for you to hit that Wonderbolt track again today, if you'd want to." I offer, glancing down to the grey flank that walks to my side. It's kind of funny how acclimated she's become to Dinky and my antics -- she doesn't even blink now when she watches me wrangle her daughter like a feral cat. Every time I go to adjust my grip on the little Dinker, she counters and scrambles up or down my arms or torso, either trying to squeeze somewhere comfortable to dangle from, or attain as much height as possible. Part of me wonders if this kid should've been born a Pegasus, or if she's got some latent urge to go upwards thanks to her genes.