Deepwood Weald tell me when it's over

AW — hoping for forneskja wolves in particular

trees thin, spindly like bones caught the shadows attention, now. tall, standing upright far ways above any creature that trotted beneath them. not even the nimblest creature could climb these, he thought as he trudged across the forest floor. very little light dappled through the tangled branches, but what fell through was bright, white. telling of midday.

rökkur moved his head slowly as he surveyed the woods, scarlet eyes glancing from tree to tree. ears twitching at the sound of a vole escaping the undergrowth when a twig broke under dark paws. ferns like blood, red and green underfoot. fog that spreads in each direction. but he trusts his senses, his instincts. sharpened and careful.

he may not know if he was alone just yet, but he knew that his paws were firm on the ground. bound to the earth. weariness did not know him, for he had been a kappi, afraid of nothing. so rökkur continued, cold air stinging his nose.

The man was not alone.

He was not stalked, because Glaukos was not built for stalking, but the soldier was aware of an encroaching presence and was mindful as he made his patrol. The only thing keeping Glaukos from charging after the stranger the way he had the man by the lake, was the mark of Solharr they carried.

Before long, the stranger passed to an area of the forest that Glaukos could not see. He had trouble reaching some of the more tangled areas because of his size, and while bludgeoning through the undergrowth might've been an option, he did not want to disturb any potential hunting, or damage too much of the area in the process.

He would find his own way around. It took longer than he would have liked; the bear of a man would emerge among the red ferns cloistered beneath an immense old growth pine, seemingly unbothered by the presence of the stranger, but also clearly watching them.

within a few moments, jaws had sunken into sable hairs, rabbit skin thick around his fangs, meat tender, lean, perhaps due to the oranging of leaves; the changing of seasons. autumn was approaching, and so this meal would be savoured. soon, winter would leave the lands barren, and game would grow scarce. he would place his catch upon the forest floor, looking up and meeting the gaze of a stranger who stood a few ways away.

surprised, for a moment. then the scent of sólhárr drifted towards him. another forneskja wolf. hello, he pushed the sound from his throat. tone somewhat forced, awkward when it came to the common tongue. but the nod of his head that followed was that of polite greeting. you are forneskja wolf. i smell it on you. an acute observation. he nudged the rabbit towards the stranger, then. eat, brother. if you are hungry.