Dawn Treader Valley Það svíður mig í augun

The heavens were swathes of colors. Lavender along the horizon's east bleeding into pink, and then buttercup yellow while the west was full of the muted blues of slumber.

The prospect of a hunt had the mountain wolf deviating from her path. She had been watching the begin its climb over the eastern horizon when the scent of an elk danced across her nose. As if possessed, she set after it without a thought. The closer to drew to the source of the smell, the more she could pick up the tang of illness laced in the ungulate's essence.

After a few minutes drifting southward, she came across her quarry. A lone cow—no, it was separated. The huntress could smell the rest of the herd on it. Separated by a predator chasing the herd, she thought.

In its ailed and disorientated state, Arnarkla did not bother with talking the time to stalk and creep to get closer. She approached in a curve at a jog, waiting to be noticed and attempting to get it going in a particular direction. She didn't care to have to cross that river again in the middle of a hunt, nor to have the sun in her eyes.

The cow let out a billow of air, whites of its eyes shining, as it set off westernly. Arnarkla broke into a run.

They'd been on the move, aimless, untethered—a satelite out of orbit. Asenéth had always been a roamer, and they were fairly certain they would die as one.

This valley, it was no different to all the others they'd been to; the soil still felt like soil beneath their paw pads, the air tasted like air, and the ravens—they continued to infest the dead and the dying alongaside the maggots.

Asenéth had disemboweled a coyote some forty minutes prior. Bastard'd gotten her on the nose, nicked her with teeth that'd infuriated, and she'd choked it—had dragged the corpse for a while even, thrashed it on occasion.

Her face and chest were slicked in blood now crusted and dark, and it was this blood precisely that kept her from clocking the existence of company—that of a wolf and an elk.

The sound of rushed footfalls did, however, cause her ears to prick, and the wolf slowed, head lifting and tongue poking past her mouth to wet her nose.

Prey and predator ran for life and for food. The huntress' focus was settled on maneuvering the ungulate over sprinting to hastily leave the first bite. 

Jaws clenched, Arnarkla ran to gradually cover the distance between them. 

With the river at their backs, the huntress sped to clamp her teeth on the elk's flank. She let herself get dragged a few steps before releasing her hold and darting away to continue the chase.

It took her a momen to smell them, wolf and elk, and truthfully she heard them before their scent assaulted her senses—there was no mistaking the sound of rushing hooves and quieter, canine paws.

Ase pondered the options laid before her, but her feet—they were already moving towards the general direction of the pair. She had no interest in a hunt, held little interest in the kill, but she smelled the sickness—eventually she smelled it. The sour notes that clung in the air.

That alone was enough to intrigue the wolf and have them lazily trailing after the duo, content to remain unnoticed for now.

The cow wheezed as though it was struggling to draw air into its lungs. They had only been running for a couple of minutes.

Just as Arnarkla was going in for a second attack, the ill elk tripped and got pitched forward, dragging the side of its face through dirt and grass. In the suddenness, the huntress ended up running past it. Her hind legs stiffened, sliding to a halt before pivoting on a back paw and charging for the elk again just as it was finding its hooves.

Jaws snapped on its neck while it was still rising.

She was trotting, they were running, so—naturally—there was quite the distance between them. Distance Asenéth held little interest in closing quickly.

And so when the sickly elk fell and the stranger faltered to switch their grip, there was still distance seperating them.

Ase's jaws parted into a silent pant, tongue once again swiping at her mouth. She smelled them all right.

With her jaws clamped, Arnarkla pulled down, thwarting the elk's attempt to regain its footing. It bellowed out for some herd that was nowhere to be seen. Blood ran down its neck.

Its height helped it to manage itself back up and the huntress released her hold. The elk attempted running again but struggled to accelerate faster than a jog. Its wheezing worsened into rasping coughs.

Arnarkla took the opportunity to recollect herself. She loped circles around the ungulate.

Glimpses—only initially. Of wolf and ungulate fur, and then she lost them once more when an urge to move possessed the prey. A burst of half-hearted energy, an urge to leave, to escape.

And ultimately, it was all it took to spring Asenéth's limbs into motion, have her shifting gears into a lope, then a run that'd leave her in view of the elk and the stranger.

She'd not go for the animal, though—merely seek to circle both wolf and elk. Her tail was relaxed; it even wagged a couple of times. Her jaws were slack, panting: a wordless question of permission. A testing of the waters.

Winter was nearly upon them; she was uninterested in the possibility of a fight over food when herbs were so scarce.

Her left ear caught the stranger's presence before her nose did, flooded as it was with the strong smells of blood and venison. Silvern eyes eventually fell on the third party: tall and umber and reeking of the blood of coyotes. With her query being so weak, she sparred the moment to regard them. Saw the wagging tail and the slack jaw.

No words were made—nor any body language that intended to push the stranger away. A sizeable meal was imminent. Not even the two of them together could devour the whole thing.

The huntress' attention returned to the miserable elk. She charged to savage its flank.

There was no outward aggression in response to Ase's wordless question, so when the woman moved in for the elk's flank,  Asenéth would aim to latch onto the throat.

Weakened, wheezing—it was practically a mercy at this point.

The hairs along her spine fluffed up at the taste of blood.

The stranger went for the throat. It wouldn't be long now until the beast was felled. All the elk could do was blindly and desperately kick and buck with its legs as it coughed and moaned and wheezed.

Arnarkla left several bites along its flank, pulling at them to worsen them and get more blood to spilt. The cow's movement grew weaker and weaker.

The cow kept on fighting, desperate for life but visibly weakening with each passing minute.

Ase was no yearling—this dance was a familiar one to them—and so as the cow elk ramped up the tempo, the dark wolf let go of the throat to avoid the hooves that came flying. Blood sprang from the wounds inflicted by her inscisors. Asenéth licked her lips, panting, momentarily circling.

And then when the other aimed for a bite at the prey's flank, Asenéth moved in for the throat again.

Sought to drag the damned thing down—sink it to its knees.