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.

Y’var’la's steps were light and measured as she followed Sólhárr, the snow barely whispering beneath her feet. The playful edge in his voice didn't escape her notice, nor the subtle challenge in the way he moved with such effortless assurance. She had to give him credit—he was exactly what he appeared to be: a hunter in his element, unwavering and instinctual.

Her eyes shifted to the trail he pointed out, the subtle indentations in the snow marking the lynx’s path. She squatted low to the ground as she began to move, her steps lighter than before, as she followed the trail with ease.

The lynx was close, the faint scent of it carried on the air. She slowed, crouching low again as she neared the thicket where the tracks led, her senses tuned to the hunt. The thrill of it—the quiet build-up of anticipation—sent a spark of something dangerous flickering behind her eyes.

sólhárr's golden gaze swept over the snow-covered expanse, sharp and unyielding. the faint tracks they had followed wove a clear story, and now, nestled within the thicket, the predator lurked. its scent lingered in the chilled air, sharp and distinct, mingling with the frost.

he moved with the ease of a seasoned hunter, his large frame surprisingly silent against the snow as he closed the distance. he flicked his tail in a silent gesture to y'var'la, signaling her to hold her position. this part was his.

there—a shadow of movement within the dense brush. the lynx crouched low, its pointed ears twitching as if aware of their presence. sólhárr’s lips pulled back in a silent snarl, golden eyes narrowing. his body coiled like a spring, every muscle taut and waiting.

without hesitation, he lunged.

his claws struck first, piercing through fur and flesh as the lynx hissed and twisted to retaliate. its claws raked against his shoulder, but sólhárr didn’t falter. his jaws followed, clamping down on the creature's neck with a ferocity that left no room for escape. the lynx thrashed once, twice, then stilled beneath his weight.

he rose slowly, the lynx limp in his grasp, blood painting the pristine snow beneath them. sólhárr turned to y'var'la, his golden gaze gleaming with a mix of triumph and the lingering adrenaline of the kill. he dropped the lynx at his paws and huffed, gesturing for her to come forward.

Y’var’la watched with an air of quiet admiration, her gaze fixed on the swift precision with which Sólhárr took down the lynx. His focus was unwavering, and there was something undeniably impressive in his approach.

As the lynx’s body fell still, she took a step forward, her posture smooth but alert. She didn’t rush—she never did—but her eyes gleamed with a flicker of approval as she approached the kill, her gaze lingering on the scarlet-stained snow and the lifeless form of the creature.

“A clean kill,” she remarked thoughtfully. She rose to her full height now, eyes meeting his in a hint of challenge.

“Your turn to lead, I hope?” she said, her words laced with a teasing edge as she gave him a playful, knowing look. The hunt was his, after all.

sólhárr’s golden eye lifted to meet y’var’la’s steady gaze, the satisfaction of the hunt tempered by the quiet intensity of his expression. his breath fogged the air as he stood over the still lynx, its lifeless form a testament to their shared effort.

clean kill. good hunt, he rumbled, his words measured, broken common tongue holding the weight of acknowledgment. his voice carried no boast, only the simple truth of their success.

his gaze lingered on y’var’la for a moment longer, catching the teasing challenge in her eyes. he huffed softly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint, wry smile. next hunt, your lead. this one, i take.

turning away from her, sólhárr leaned down, grasping the lynx’s neck in his jaws with a practiced ease. the weight of the kill was nothing to him, and as he lifted it, his posture straightened, his muscles taut beneath his coat.

he began to move, slow and deliberate, gesturing with a flick of his tail for y’var’la to follow. as they walked, he glanced back at her, his golden gaze sharp yet not unkind. you see well. track well. forneskja needs hunters like you.

the words were a rare offering of praise, a mark of the trust he extended only to those he deemed worthy. and though his steps carried them forward, the unspoken understanding between them lingered, as steady and unyielding as the hunt itself.