Neverwinter Forest carry me down the mountain, water,

Another day of patrolling the borders stretched on ahead of him. It was not unpleasant work by any means, but he knew where he would rather be.

It had occurred to him that, if Seastorm smelled like him, then he probably also smelled like Seastorm. Which meant that his scent, noticeable on the borders, might also carry hers. That made moving her deeper into the territory a moot point, but he didn't see how he could change any of this. They'd just have to be vigilant.

Well — he was doing that, now. And he'd spotted something just a little out of the ordinary: two bucks had locked horns, and now they were stuck. Or, rather, one was stuck. The other was dead, neck bent and twisted oddly as its living counterpart tried to get away. Catamaran stood nearby, fascinated by the spectacle of it. Something had already begun to eat the dead deer, but the living one was pristine — and steadily growing weaker.

The pelt was a perfect candidate for the task Callyope had assigned him.

strange scent riding the wind towards him. catamaran, hunting partner, laced with another, a stranger, but still fondly of forneskja. rökkur would carry himself upwind, towards the smell of both his packmate and the smell of buck. a carcass on the winds, though lingering with that of a deer that smelt all-too-alive. a strange combination.

and then blonde hair peeked from behind the pine trees, and the shadow—no, the guardian, the sögumaðr—would let out a low huff; an announcement of his approach. he pulled up beside the man, then, eyes scanning the scene in front of him. oh, he murmured, low and gravelly. shocked. disgusted? that is unfortunate.

he meant to ask of the strange scent upon his pelt, but that could wait, now. how long has he been like this? the lorekeeper asked instead. pity gripped his expression, softening, twisting it. nose wrinkled at the smell of death. an awkward, ugly dance that was slowly draining the life of the living deer. he felt the urge to free it. save it.

and so he looked over at catamaran; another question: should we do something about this? he asked, slow, gentle, nodding towards the bucks. was this an indicator of the others time? did the living buck deserve sacrifice? or was this a call of mercy? he did not yet know. but he did know that he could not continue watching for long.

"For them," Catamaran agreed, his tone even. But there was something in his expression that said that he, too, felt some measure of compassion for the scene. The dead buck's suffering had ended, but the living one was primed to suffer if it could not free itself.

He did not look at Rokkur as the other man arrived, too wrapped up in the National Geographic special playing out before them. With another hunter with him, he could go ahead and do something about it. Likely, the buck was hardly up for a fight by now, but Catamaran hadn't wanted to risk it.

"Probably for some time," he replied, his eyes leaving the locked antlers to scrutinize the state of the half-eaten buck. "Several days." It was a miracle the one was still alive. Whatever had eaten off the dead one had, apparently, not bothered with the living.

He looked back at Rokkur at the last question, a little taken aback. He supposed, though, that the man might not have wanted to interrupt the show, since Catamaran had been so absorbed in it.

"We should put it out of its misery," he agreed, his tail swishing at the thought of another full meal. Seastorm did not prefer large game, but he did. "Unless you want to try untangling them."

It was a jest — but a jest from Catamaran sounded like any other statement that came out of his mouth. He looked to Rokkur again anyway, just to see if he would laugh. But he didn't expect it; others rarely laughed at his jokes.

rot-like carcass. pecked at and nibbled on by crow and eagle alike. an upturned lip, discomforted. nose wrinkled from the smell. but a pang of guilt hidden behind bloodstone eyes. a wave of sympathy, string of remorse. perhaps, had they found the two bucks earlier, both could have escaped with their lives. 'what if', an oftentimes masochistic path of thinking. only ever disappointing.

a huff at the untangling comment. one that may have been prompted by humour but gave no other indicator of such a concept. he blinked, then. It would benefit the remaining buck, he said, though an uncertainty was thick within his words. was such a thing even possible? but any illness or disease from the dead one would have already spread to the living one, i believe. unsure. weary.

he looked to catamaran for guidance. a nod indicated that he should take the lead. do what you want, the man nodded, affirmation strong in his voice. a sense of trust, respect. a confidence that catamaran would be able to do the right thing when it came to the bucks, whether he decided to free them or kill them. i will be your back-up. an equally important role, he thought. just quieter. valuable, though not as flashy.

and rökkur was perfectly content with that.

Catamaran had not expected there to be much discussion on the topic. He made a quiet sound at the idea of benefitting the living buck, as if the thought had not yet crossed his mind. It was not an idea he could get behind, and he did not feel any need to justify that to himself or Rokkur — but far be it from him to judge a man for being thoughtful. He stood by, listening with idle interest while the other male made up his mind.

"It probably wasn't illness," the bounty hunter replied, even after Rokkur had agreed to follow his lead. The man had asked, and Catamaran thought that this was knowledge worth sharing. "Its neck was likely broken in the battle for dominance."

The buck could get away clean, then. If they helped it. But,

"This is an unusually safe hunt, and with a high reward," he reminded the other man. "It might live if we save it, but so might one of your own die in the next hunt, or from famine, somewhere down along the line."

He'd never had to defend such a choice before, but he found that the answers came to him easily enough. It interested him that Rokkur seemed to have reservations. Born of what, he wondered?

But — ah, the buck was panicking again, having finally sensed their presence in the midst of a conversation. They ought to end this before it had time to truly process what would befall it on this day. He dropped the conversation and stepped toward the creature, glancing back at Rokkur to see if he was still willing to take part.

Feel free to PP Catamaran in your next post! I figure we don't need to do another big hunting scene unless you want to, and if not we can just mainly summarize this kill. Maybe they have more philosophy to discuss?