Carson stared at the humans, victorious and shouting, from his prone position on the grass. Blood trickled from his nose, but he would heal far quicker than any of the humans would. He could hear the words of his Uncle Jacob echoing around in his skull, so poignant after this day's defeat: "We're stronger than them, faster. We can take more hits, but we will always lose to them."
He doubted they would be back.
We lost thirteen games this season. Thirteen! To lose any amount of games to the humans was an embarrassment. Carson sat up, glancing down at the grass stains on his uniform. That human, Ricky Something, was a vicious little creature who had dolled out one too many hits when the ref had his gaze averted. Bloodlust boiled under his skin; never before had he ever yearned to bite a human against their will. But this little brat was cheating. Carson hated cheaters.
Much to his surprise, a delicate hand came into view. Long, gently shaped fingernails tipped the warm, pink-tinged flesh of a human hand. Carson's eyes slid up the arm, his gaze traveling over the white sleeve of a jacket and up into the friendly-looking face of one of the humans' women.
"A hand up?" She said, her accent slurring the words. She sounded so modern. Her blonde curls tumbled over her shoulder as she wiggled her hand at him. It took a whole second for Carson to realize he'd been staring. There was some thing sparkling and beautiful in the depths of her cerulean eyes, and he'd accidentally stumbled head over heels into it.