Neverwinter Forest hey you, big mood

for @Yngvi !!

scents flooded the shadows' nose as he hunted within forneskja territory. his territory, now. it felt strange navigating a forest, though the mountain range once had its fair share of thickets and spruces. upon the grassy floor, though, there were no animals he was familiar with. no sheep, nor goat. but hare, he knew.

he followed its scent, now. nose to the ground, padding, slowly, carefully, closer and closer towards the rabbit. all was quiet, which led rökkur to believe the small game was still. potentially sleeping. he had yet to look up, perked ears telling him all he needed to know. focused purely on the hunt, he likely would not notice a stranger, should they approach. ears would pick up their voice, however.

and so his tail waved behind him. a demonstration of his attention focused on the scent trail alone. moving forwards. the rustling of grass: the creature was moving, too, now.

the man had an audience. of only one, to be fair. still, yngvi watched the man while she clung to the safety of the shadows.

rarely had she'd gotten the chance to witness hunts. she always stayed within the village even when under the tutelage of her grandmother, food was always served and never caught by her. until her banishment, anyways.

the fae kept her lips sealed for now, violet eyes dancing between the dark shadow of a viking and his prey.

but its paws were not fast enough, and within a few moments in hung limply within the jaws of the shadows. belly against the forest floor, he pushed himself upright, then. the scent of the game flooded his nose, but when he had set it down, there was another smell nearby. that of forneskja. another packmate, recruited by sólhárr, he assumed.

searching the darkness that loitered within the trees, rökkur hummed. mauve pelt caught his eye. badger-patterned. average of size, though thin-boned in a way that made her look like a doe. he'd search for her gaze, then. lilac eyes framed by a dark, cherry-like face. hello. he murmured, then. norse accent thick on his tongue. awkward.

he looked from the woman to the hare, then back to the woman. nudging it forwards with a single paw, he spoke: hungry? an invitation to come forwards, should she wish to claim this meal. his tail would flick. an indicator of a calm demeanor.

she greets with a smile, though it dissipates when the carcass is dropped at his feet. an offering to a seer yet to prove herself — the men of forneskja must be mad or backwards!

it was your catch. she reminds him. she approached only to push the fuzzy body back towards him.
i've done nothing to earn it. yngvi retreats to the shadows, ignoring the pit in her stomach. i only wished to watch; hunts are quite tense..

she refuses the meal, and rökkur nods. he picks the rabbit up, then, finding a suitable hollow only a pace away from his original spot, protected by ferns at the base of a tree. setting the game down once more, he nudges dirt over it, memorising the location as to come back to this mini-cache later.

he turns back to the woman, now. you will earn it, then, he says, swaying his tail in a wide motion, towards his own shoulder, as if to beckon her forwards. watching as she moves back towards the shadow, he shakes his head. i smell your hunger. you must eat. i will help—only a little bit; so you earn it honourably.

his tone was firm when he spoke, but a gentleness was worn on his face. a careful, compassionate expression that glimmered, swimming behind blazing eyes. he truly did just wish to help. or you can watch me catch for you. hunting together prove more useful, though. teaches you more. two options for the mauve lady.

priestesses never hunted, but forneskja had already deviated so far from the norm for her. maybe all seers are expected to be great hunters alongside norn-speakers.

let us hunt then. it’ll be useful to learn, just in case. what to catch? fish, maybe?
yngvi is not swift; nor does she have the might expected of her eklund bloodline. and she is not quick-witted enough to make up for these failings.
but maybe that can change.

i apologize for the trouble.

a flicker of a smile tugged at his lips, then, as she agreed. he began to move. no trouble. he said. nose risen as to drink in the scents of the forest. nothing close, now, after he had hunted the rabbit. they would have to continue further.

it is part of forneskja loyalty, a firm nod of his head seemed to finalise his words. and then, a shrug: but i also simply wish to aid. rökkur slows for a moment, turning to look at the mauve woman, should she be following.

do you smell anything? mouse scent was faint in the air, but he wanted her confirmation before continuing onwards. sense of smell was, in rökkur's opinion, the most important part of hunting. the second, stealth.

even the weak could learn to hunt, should they be quick, silent.

forneskja loyalty. how long will it stand until she is no longer useful to the clan? would that day come sooner or later?

the woman’s mask only smiles. despite her second thoughts, the man’s firm resolve to help.

yes. mouse. even she could recognize that. but would that fill her?

good, he said, then. silence for a moment as he continued walking. then the rustling of the small creature. it is up to you, now, to catch it. voice lowered, a mere hush, as anything could startle it. even the faintest breath.

and so he nodded towards her. encouraging, gesturing. tail swayed behind him. should she wish, they could hunt something larger, too. perhaps something to fill the caches with. a fawn, perhaps, but he knew that they would all be adolescents by now, no longer wobbling, awkward babies. harder to catch.

but he returned his thoughts to the mauve woman, then. watching her with focus.