Deepwood Weald claws

hunting thread w solharr for two lynxes, AW!

the cold morning broke across the forest in hushed tones, the rising sun casting its pale light over the frost-kissed earth. sólhárr stood at the edge of the trees, his breath visible in the chilled air as he surveyed the wilderness before him. today’s task weighed heavy on his shoulders, a burden of pride and expectation that had festered since the moment the bride price had been named.

six white foxes, seven otter, two lynx, and one seal. and more—so much more.

the price for callyope. the price to prove his worth.

he had already begun to chip away at the list, but each name on it was a thorn in his side. this was not his way, not his tradition. the wolves of forneskja sought to build strength through unity and action, not through the measured tokens of approval laid before a matron’s feet. yet here he was, bound by his promise, determined to carry the weight.

today, he would find the lynxes.

their hides would serve the moonwoman, and their deaths would inch him closer to the woman who had become his sun.

with a growl low in his throat, sólhárr adjusted the deer pelt on his shoulders, its weight both a comfort and a reminder. his golden eyes burned with a singular focus as he stepped into the shadows of the forest, the hunt beginning anew.

today, there would be blood. and with it, progress.

The frost clung to the edges of her fur like delicate embroidery, a faint glitter catching in the faint sunlight as Y’var’la moved through the trees. Her steps were deliberate, practiced, every placement of her paws a silent whisper against the frozen earth.

She had not sought company this morning but had found it, or rather, had decided to allow it when she’d caught sight of Sólhárr stalking toward the forest’s edge.

From her perch along a low ridge, she watched him now, sharp eyes catching every flicker of tension in his movements. Whatever task he was undertaking, it weighed on him—his resolve like a physical presence she could almost touch. The way his shoulders set, the fire simmering low in his gaze, it all spoke of a wolf on a mission.

It intrigued her.

“You look tense,” Y’var’la remarked at last, stepping from the shadows with an elegance that bordered on theatrical. Her voice carried through the still air, smooth as polished silver, carrying no malice but plenty of amusement.

She descended the slope with ease, her lean frame weaving through the terrain. When she reached him, she tilted her head, examining him like one might a puzzle missing a piece. “What are you hunting, Sólhárr?”

snow dusted sólhárr's broad shoulders as he turned to face her, his dark, imposing form framed against the stark white backdrop. his sharp amber gaze softened slightly at the sight of y’var’la emerging from the shadows, her words laced with that familiar, teasing edge.

lynxes, he rumbled, his deep voice carrying effortlessly through the crisp air. they’re cunning, but i’ve caught their scent.

he paused, his eyes sweeping over her, noting the ease with which she moved through the snow, the confidence in her step. his tail flicked in a subtle motion, half invitation, half challenge.

join me? a faint smirk ghosted his features, though his tone was steady, almost serious. could use another set of teeth—and eyes. these woods hide them well.

Y’var’la’s eyes glinted as she met his challenge head-on, a subtle smirk curving the corners of her lips. She wasn’t quite used to dirtying her paws with the chase—but something about the way he presented it, as though she could be of use, caught her attention.

It was an interesting proposition—not that she had much of an interest in hunting, but the challenge was always... appealing. Her lips curled into a smile as her eyes locked with his. She tilted her head, letting the soft wind carry her thoughts across the stillness.

“I usually prefer other kinds of pursuits, but," Her gaze flickered over the expanse of the snow-covered landscape, as though testing it, “I suppose I can spare a moment for the Hárkonungr."

Her eyes flicked over his form one last time before she tilted her chin slightly, waiting for him to make his move.  “Lead the way,” she said.

solharr wasted no time, his broad frame shifting with an easy confidence as he turned toward the forest’s edge. his strides were long, purposeful, the snow crunching under his paws like an anthem to the hunt. he glanced back over his shoulder just once, ensuring y’var’la followed, a flicker of something playful in his pale eyes.

keep up, then, he murmured, a low hum of amusement threading through his words.

the terrain was familiar to him—his paws knew every dip and rise, every faint trace left by the creatures of these woods. the air was sharp and clean, carrying the musk of lynx faintly in its chill.

solharr paused at a ridge, his head tilting as he assessed the faint tracks leading deeper into the underbrush. a predator’s path—light, careful steps that left little more than whispers in the snow. he huffed, the steam of his breath curling in the cold air.

there. his voice was a rumble, quiet but firm, as he gestured with a tilt of his head toward the trail. they move through here. two, maybe three.

he stepped aside then, letting her come forward. you’re quiet enough, he teased lightly, a grin tugging at his lips. show me. but his stance remained ready, muscles taut, prepared to intervene should their quarry prove more challenging than expected.