Things seemed to slow for the progress he wanted with Corra, and it was growing harder for him to feel the need to court her- 'You are NOT courting her, Dawson. You are to bring her back home, regroup, and revisit. That is the plan. Stick to the plan.' Vehement reinforce of his plans. It seemed as hard as he tried to stick to it, however, he reverted back like some desperate and incompetent fool. He was an Odolf, herald of the legacy! There was discipline in him, engraved in his very making- 

But where lie all your gods when you made them up?

The ivory and cream serpent snaked a pattern in the elken trail, hoping to stir up some game. Various rodents and smaller scurriers flew past him with livid speeds, but he did not bother to pursue them. Bitterly, he knew how both lupines needed something much larger than rabbits and patridges every other day. Not that he was attempting to impress her, or anything. He could not have been. 
He better not have been.

A fellow looked up ahead, seeming to scout the grounds with such fevor that he grew admired. A pair of testicles hung adamantly beneath an obsidian striped banner baked in prime albaster. Dapper and clean. Male. He relaxed, hoping this would be a potential hunting ally, or even a guide to inform him wherever the hell he might have wandered. 

"Hail," he greeted and alerted the seeking male out, less honey and silk in his voice than had he been trying to swoon a woman. "Up for a hunt?" it was short and sweet, as he hoped to waste neither of their time. The male seemed young, limber and not necessarily small, but not built with the obvious bulk that came with a lifetime of fighting for you life. Too many males he had seen, his brothers, included, were seemingly just large for no reason other than genetics. Yet if that was what survived and thrived, who was he to question Darwin's law?

"Or do you know where we might stand?" a better question for someoone not up for seeking out a meal. Options atleast were offered. Ceruleans scanned the male, clear blue's holding some sort of reserve in their watery depths. He certainly hoped this male was not hostile- he was not built for the wars his brothers sought to win, and most often did.

Confusion had lasted all of about the entire time he stared at this strang male, this suave yet savage fellow lupine. Something about him screamed  murder, while another screamed-
kin.

“I’d rather you not-“ he coursed the rough wave over smooth sands with little effort as the confusion began to fade. “Unless you have plans to keep me alive, should you win.” The second half of the deal was punctuated with a smirk he hadn’t planned to illustrate. Since when had he dared become a playful devil?

Charm washed into those crystalline blues as he felt himself growing eager for this game of dangerous tag. He hadn’t ever romped around with strangers before, and found himself wanting for this dashing gent to take the invite. He needed to let his hair down every now and then, too, did he not? It would ail a man should he be duty-bound all his life.

What an odd trophy- a single bite? Hopefully not to castrate. Such dangerous terms to play upon, but who was to claim he was not going to win? The competition heated up only to simmer as he concocted his own prize. “And should I win, you join us in our travels.” Adrenaline began to spark a skip in his heart, bleating a beat faster, harder, and forging smooth muscles into tense tendons and marble springs. 
He was ready. “No need for permanent reside, should you grow tired of our band,” And with that, he wast off-

well perhaps he wasted a good majority of his head start time, but it was worthwhile in terms of leverage. He did in fact wish to see what this pale male was made of. He seemed quite young, and he supposed with supple meat involved, he would make a great potential for Rosings.
He had not yet beein informed of Rosing’s actually being moved back home, but he was sticking to his ignorant plan, regardless. 

A dashing turn through trees and brambles alike, he tried his utmost not to be targeted by the amethyst eyed counterpart- winter topaz searches for the best trails, scheming things that might seem inconvenient to cross and more of a difficult leap for his pursuit. 
Yet he tried, regardless.

His lungs pumped hearty and full as he flung himself over different obstacles as if it were he who chased the other through the thick thicket which he seemingly sprouted wings and flew throughout. His mind had gone blank for once, free of the coils and cogs he had kept oiled and ready for whatever victim of his manipulation needed to hear or feel. He was in bliss, and enjoyed this absence so well that he had completely lost himself in the run. The Odolf was high on this type of life. Corra had completely vanished from his lst, a pearlene haze that drifted and blew free as a single exhale would have, his own ovory and gold chest bursting through the plume with no second thought.

All was well. The thick gusts pouring through his fur, pink mouth partially agape, tongue out and tasting the chill of the day. He was a graceful thing, nimble and vivid yet a blur as he gave his all into this dash through the hemlock and firs. There, and then gone.

But it seemed the forest had conspired with fate, and time began to turn on itself as Karma came to reap her due. Pine needles rose from a startled flock of midwestern partridges, and with both feathers aflutter and the fragments of dirt, particulates thrust unforgivingly into the sea serpents brilliant and seductive blues.
His step missed its mark as went blind-

and across a fallen log, the man fell. 

Rushing to his fours, it soon became three as he fought to pull the chips and splinters from his eyes. Deftly wiping and smudging, thumbclaw frantically tried to scratch off what he could. But it was to no avail! He would never lay eyes on not even a basic wench, now- 

Paw steps closed in-

how close was this man? Had he lost him? Impossible-

The sea serpent felt anxiety as he lost his role as a predator, and was flung into the niche of prey.

Fuck- his eyes burned. It was only a matter of time before they started to sting, and it was clear he was doing more damage than dislodgement. Just as he thought it couldn’t get any worse, his world spin around, and he found himself lost even more in the galled piles of mulched and dried flasks of dead flora. But he could smell the pursuant, feel him, as he stood atop of him with poise he couldn’t see. Any general wisp of air between their bodies told Dawson that he was in fact locked in place at the hold Athan chose to use on him. But the man has caught him- and a deal was a deal. Or was it...?

”You have!” He exclaimed with surprised glee. “Two out of three...?” His voice that was once a deep drum of milk and honey to woman about him in Rosings quaked in the embrace of this unseen menace. It was a clear he wasn’t attempting to appear fearful, but surely the shaking of his outer thighs against the mans inners told no lie. 

Tongue rasped over the side of his neck, unbelievably tender and loving for the awful intent to come. But it eased the serpent into another attempt to slither out of this predicament. “Surely you would rather a much longer run?” The man spike more than one language even! He had to be more sophisticated than winning in one round, yes?
Right?
...right?...

A general cry of loss was heard as Dawson’s mind came to terms with what was happening. In the position he was in, he could not flail, nor throw his body in any way that would have him any fighting chance at survival. It was a cry of knowing death would be coming soon that he was not yet ready for. He had no mate, no spawn- he had done the Odolf name ruin by participating in this gamble. Even behind closed lids, he could see a darkness coming, and his breath increased, heart pounded against a pale set of caging ribs, fighting to figure out how to stop the darkness that speckled and seeped through limbs that no longer wanted to fight as much. He was feeling the seeping happening, and it almost hadn’t registered that the man had bitten him. It was nearly an embrace, a cold one, as this man was given a violently gentle passing into the always open arms of Death. 

Dawson could not ignore the hug...

and it was not long before he hugged back, and released his final sigh into the pale down of the Reaper who had led him there.