Barrow Fields these are the last blues we're ever gonna have.

Artaax's ears perked as he saw the other wolf, approaching the warring birds opposite from where he was perched. His eyes narrowed possessively as she crept towards the battle, but not because he wanted their kill, but because he wanted them. Or one of them, at the very least. In an instant, he had pressed himself back up onto all fours, his eyes wide and watchful as the female darted in to snatch the kill. Almost immediately she was swarmed by the eagles, and much to his pleasure, she turned to run, bringing them right to him.

The hunter's muscles tensed as she came nearer, quickly mapping a plan out in his head for how to best nab one of the birds. In the end, Artaax had no idea what would work and what wouldn't, and so he simply sprang forward when he could not longer hold himself back. His sights were on the smaller of the two eagles as he sprinted forward with all the focused intensity of a hunter, which is exactly what he was in that moment - and probably a bit to his detriment as he was too busy to consider how exactly that might look to the stranger he was subsequently as running straight towards.