"Oh, I'm hanging on fine," Yrael smirks, though he does move into a crouch rather than lie across Doc's shoulders, as they pick up speed. It lowers his center of gravity and stabilizes his claws' grip on the vest, and is far from uncomfortable. The breeze has become more like a proper wind at this speed, and Yrael keeps his head raised to scent the air around them.

"What sorts of animals does one hunt, in this part of the world?"