Rabbit × The Windrunner
It chases the gust too, but one probe of the foot, and if it feels wrong it pulls right back.
The Windrunner chases the gust, and the Rabbit chases it too, but one probe of the foot and if it feels wrong it pulls right back. So you ride the gust without flipping, the sky-sweeping kind of speed fitted with a relief valve, the Bow-and-Arrow stars for swiftness and a hand always near the brake. You move fast and you almost never lose, which is the rare combination.
Your nose is sharp and your pullback is quick, so you take the gust the impulsive types ride into a wall and you come off it clean. You test before you commit and you commit before the moment passes, most of the time, threading the narrow gap between reckless and frozen. Speed that survives its own mistakes is worth more than speed that does not, and you have it.
The cost lives in the murky early window. When a chance has not resolved yet, when you cannot read it clearly, you back off a good one because the picture is not sharp enough for your taste. A runner who only takes the gust he can already see misses the ones that pay best, the ones that look unclear right up until they break. The Waxing Gibbous is sweeping toward full, gaining, not holding back. Once, on a chance you cannot fully read, take the bet anyway and run it.
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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.