Ox × The Windrunner
Chases the updraft too, but always with the hardest-plowed ground under its feet.
The Windrunner chases the updraft and you, an Ox, chase it too but always with the hardest-plowed ground under your feet. Waxing Gibbous sweeping across the sky, the Bow-and-Arrow stars all swiftness. Your steadiness fits a brake to the Windrunner's impulse, so the wild grab at a passing chance becomes a sturdy one, the kind that does not flip over the moment the wind shifts.
You catch the opening and you hold it. Half a beat slower than the pure Windrunner off the line, sure, but where they snatch and lose their grip you snatch and keep it, both feet planted, the chance still in hand when the gust dies down. People who move fast and drop things watch you move a little slower and drop nothing, and they start to understand the trade.
The fault is the half beat turning into a full stop. You hesitate on the very updraft you picked, right at the moment you should charge, second-guessing the chance you already chose until the best point of it has passed. The Bow-and-Arrow stars are about loosing the shot, not nocking it forever. The Waxing Gibbous is almost full, the window almost shut. Some chance, when you have already decided, go on the beat instead of the one after.
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A mirror, not a prophecy. It reflects you as you are right now. How you walk is still yours to choose.