the pair move parallel to the lake in a strange, clipped dance. the stag is old, seasons past it's prime and made weak by illness. still, it's sharp-edge hooves are swift, and desperation makes them swifter. the wolf is young, too young, perhaps, but patient. adopting a wide-legged stance, the stag lowers it's head, tired eyes finding the shoreline where the wolf drinks. the sides of both creatures heave, the wolf panting. but when the stag makes for the water, the wolf charges, and abruptly does it stagger again further down the lakeshore. this is the game they play; the wolf worrying the stag, the stag keeping the wolf at bay, until one of them tires beyond recovery.
She had walked from their resting place to the river, hoping to catch breakfast for herself and her travel companion. The sound of a hunt drew her down to the ground, creeping curiously just out of sight. There was an unfamiliar she-wolf and an engaged stag, the two of them appearing to trade the advantage.
She watched in silence for a few moments. Eventually, she walked onto the playing field and found the she-wolf's gaze. This was not her fight, nor was it her prize to win; Ying would need permission before making any further decisions.
she enjoys the simplicity of this, one creature tested against the other. but this equilibrium needs to shift eventually, and so when the warlord's gaze finds another, she issues a low bark of invitation, spinning away to avoid a halfhearted kick. sensing, perhaps, the shifting odds, the stag picks up speed as it trots along the shoreline, sides heaving and head low, eyes rolled back to reveal dancing ivory.
The strange woman — was she a woman? — turned and made her invitation. Eager to involve herself, Ying chuffed her agreement and began to trot onward. She noticed the creature's sly escape and turned to Hela, wondering if she wanted to give chase.
Ying silently appraised her comrade's frame and noted the impressive build. She wondered what else she might be interested in, if not a hunt.