Cedar Sweep On your own time.

Open to anyone! Hoping to do a hunting trade thread. @Stjornuati

Early that morning, Zephrine plunged through the woods in hot pursuit of a game trail.

What had started as a sojourn along the edge of the claim (with the dim hope she'd spy one of the elusive deer) had turned in to a little adventure further abroad. It was difficult to tell how much of the terrain was controlled by the Deorwine at the moment, since she was so new and their tendency to roam caused their scent to travel.

The deer wouldn't want to linger anywhere that wolves congregated, that was a basic enough line of thought, so she had journeyed through the woods to a section that smelled strongly like cedar, just as the rain picked up. It wasn't so bad - the smells were strengthened, the colors too. Zephrine was hopeful as she stalked attentively between the trees.

He had ranged from @Solpallur and @Meadow's sides today, feeling the urge to learn more about the lands they traversed and the bounty they had to offer. While his brother was more adept at tracking than he, it was still a blade he wished to lay against the whetstone; the more he ran it across, the sharper it would get, and while his prowess might never match Solpallur's two wolves that could track were infinitely better than one. Idly, he wondered if Engi knew this skill as well.

This wondering was gently ebbed away as his following of the herd led him to a scent more interesting than that of the cervid that had drawn him away initially. Ahead of him, he caught a sight of something that did not immediately make sense in his mind. With the color of a cervid but the shape of his kin, the Stareater wondered wildly for a moment if this was the hringja that led him, taking another form than the raven that oft guided his movements.

Slinking forward, Stjornuati trailed in the wake of this creature, silent and intent upon his quarry.

A scrape - an oval patch of ground that had been cleared - cast a wide arc beneath her feet. Zephrine noticed the misting of rain over patches of grass, the dampness of the soil, and recognized it as being older by at least a day. Along one edge was a bit of missing grass where a cloven hoof had loosened the soil, the bottom of which had a small collection of rain. She sniffed this, peering around at a level just above the grass.

The herd may have passed through here some time ago. She had been wrong to assume the bucks were starting their rut; it appeared as though they started earlier this far south, which meant Zephrine had to compensate a little bit in her estimations.

There was something else - a wolf scent, much stronger than the faded deer trail she had found. It wasn't familiar and that sent a red flag high for her, and Zephrine had to remind herself that it had only been a few days since her reintroduction to her family. There were bound to be some she did not know. She stood quite still (a deer in headlights) and gradually swept her gaze across the surrounding trees, wondering if someone was out there or if she'd merely crossed a patrol route by accident. It wouldn't be the first time she had gotten so involved in tracking that she'd blundered.

Mystery gave way to reality, revealing not a spectral hybrid but a long-legged and fair-furred wolf. Livered eyes upon her, Stjornuati discovered the reason for his mistaken identification was none other than the colors painted across her form, not dissimilar to the prey he had been tracking. Wolves of such vibrance were uncommon in the region of his natal pack, the reason of his intense gaze lingering upon the female's countenance.

Only when he had studied her to his content did the star eater step forward, peeling away from the depths of the forest to stand before her, ears thrust forward and attentive to her. With no forthright emotion that crossed his face and no display of power or station, Stjornuati regarded her for a moment before lifting his nose slightly, drawing in the scents that clung to her fur. Others, but not as fresh as the scent would be were she near her pack's lands.

Lightly, he also traced the scent of deer; she must have been tracking them as well, though his single-minded intent to chase the sýn had obscured his attention to the herd of prey. Eyeing her for a moment longer, Stjornuati turned, taking a step both towards her but also along the musked trail, the question and invitiation evident in his gaze.

Would she join him?

The stranger was pale but not quite white pale, more the color of old parchment, subtly golden. They had a lowly posture at first but raised their head, watching her attentively, and she felt herself get small out of habit. Her tail swept the grass in a friendly little wave, then stilled.

They seemed to be on the trail of something. At least their path crossed with the route of compression she had been looking at, so Zephrine assumed he had followed a similar trail to where they met here. As he began to move on he paused and seemed to be waiting for her - wordless, which she appreciated - and after a momentary pause to make up her mind, she followed after him.

They moved quickly. Zephrine was thankful for her light, spry body. Keeping up with him wasn't too difficult. The path widened considerably as they roamed together and the scent trail became more pronounced, proving they were on the right track.

The little red sýn accepted his presence and invitation and so, the stareater looked no farther into it than that. Alongside her, he moved, long legs carrying the lean and pale spectre through the forest they had found one another in. While she was not his dark furred compatriot, her wordlessness was remniscient of him and in this, Stjornuati was comforted, placated even. Watch her be better at tracking, as well. If that was the case, he would surely keep this adventure to himself.

His mistakes were subtle but present; there were a collection of moments where Stjornuati had wandered too far from their track only to lope back to her side and start again. For some moments, he would watch her with the same intensity as before, an attempt made to learn from her just by watching her mannerisms and small tells.

In the present, Stjornuati found himself frustrated, nose to the ground, trying to pick up that scent again so that he would not need to back track. The female was not far, he presumed, but he was not sure if she was close enough to hear the huff and grumble, a telltale sign that he had officially lost the trail he had been so sure of.

They were working in tadem for a few feet at a time. When Zephrine grew comfortable enough alongside the stranger she focused better on the trail, estimating its trajectory and moving on with sharp strides, only to find her new companion absent. Not wanting to lose the trail, she'd leave herself a clue - scratching the dirt or snapping a small branch with her teeth - and then go to look for him; he was not long away from her, but it became a frequent aspect of their hunt.

It felt like she was scouring the forest for deer as well as the stranger, which was off-putting. After turning at a bend in the trees Zephrine found herself alone yet again and huffed, unaccustomed to being frustrated; she had to get used to hunting with others whether they were pack or not, though, and so she bottled up her feelings and went to find him again.

He was huffing and puffing a few meters back, and she chuffed to draw his attention. By doing so, she also alerted something in the underbrush and as soon as she attempted to garner his attention there is a flurry of movement. A ruddy-red streaks between the trees, birds erupt overhead in a squall.

She twists, striding along the path she had previously abandoned, and then halts to listen.

rolled to see if they scurred the deer away; they did not!

Ears twisted to her call, his head lifting to aim in her direction, the irritation that had been directed inward melting away to give light to the curiosity. Unaware that his studies and attempts festered a gentle animosity within her breast, Stjornuati stills at the furor that descended upon the forest, knowing enough that a halt of movement was the best chance they had at salvaging their hunt.

Seconds passed, stretching long in the depth of the forested land; were they here a minute? an hour? Time would blur as the man finally began to move, careful to step softly towards his partner in hunting, glancing to her momentarily before his nose began to work, twitching gently as the male sampled the air.

No small miracle was served to the pair, the scent still strong and present. Whatever creature had fled was not their mark. A gentle nudge of his shoulder against hers was given to garner attention, a short, purposeful motion of his head indicating that she should leadd. From here, he would follow the female, trusting her in this practice more than he trusted himself.

The man comes up nearby, brushing against her slightly; it makes her nervous, knowing what she's been taught about strangers by her parents - and by those faithful to the High Elk. His pale coat proves to Zephrine that his parents had done something egregious in their lives, and so he is tainted.

She helps him in this quest to hunt because it benefits her - but also to help him redeem himself, as the High Elk has stripped him of color, and she believes everyone deserves redemption. If he can attain it through putting in the work, it gives her hope for herself.

They're both standing and waiting for a sign; noses trembling, mouths open to taste the trembling air, ears pivoting to each sound. Zephrine is staring at the gap in the trees where that flash of red-brown had been, and then the man is striding away from her - towards that gap - and when he pauses, motioning to her, she takes the lead.

Careful steps. Alert to everything, so close to deer-like in that moment herself. As close to the High Elk as she could fathom of herself, all faults considered. Then there is a crack in the stillness and she tilts her head, takes one small step, and launches in to a run. Around a copse of trees over a small pile of discarded branches, through fern, they tug at her coat but she doesn't care; the smell of maple everywhere, the bite of pine needles against her pads. Zephrine doesn't know when the man falls away to her periphery but she doesn't care, she's wholly focused on the shape bounding before her.

The doe radiates vitality as she leaps and careens, seeking solace while the wolves close-in behind her.

Like an arrow nocked and loosed, the sýn shot forward, her lean frame practically flying into the deep shadows before them. Quick on her heels, the northerner followed, the pursuit of their prey fueling the fire in his belly so that it fanned to consume his soul. The chase was the dance, the beat of their paws, their hearts, the drum. The only thing missing was the melody, which Stjornuati could not help but provide.

A long and low howl rent the air, leaving the man breathless as he ran. What he lacked in ability to track, he made up for in spades with his ability to hunt. Bounding through the forest, the wolf of Stormhaven could do little but give into the demand of his instinct, diving in close to grab one of the ungulate's legs. His teeth would shut on the bone with force, the scream of the creature ringing in his ears.

It was up to the red little sýn what would happen next.