Týr had not meant to allow the sickly fawn - a scrappy little thing that had bleated pathetically, calling to the Nord’s attention as he scouted the territories near Swiftcurrent Creek - to lead him so far from Swiftcurrent’s borders. It was a substantial combination of predator instincts and resolute unwillingness to pass up what he considered the perfect prey. The fawn was obviously not the healthiest of it’s herd and had either been left for dead or wandered too far away. It was enticing and Týr was determined he would bring it back to Swiftcurrent Creek for the caches, eager to fulfill the task Fox required of him. Perhaps there lingered a touch of reckless abandon in the combination as well as he raced through the darkening lands, the shadows blurring as he pushed himself off an outcropping of rock with a soft grunt, sides heaving with each heavy, stifled pant. Crystal blue eyes scoured the dark forest viciously as the Viking caught the silhouette of his fawn. For a sickly thing Týr had to reluctantly admit that it was agile and swift, nevertheless. Cloaked in the grasping shadows, coat splashed with drying mud - useful for masking his scent - Týr patiently lowered himself betwixt a rotten log and another boulder, moving akin to army crawling wiggling his body (an impressive feat given his bulk) past the tightest part of his hiding place for the fear of getting potentially stuck on take off.
Breath trickled from between lips softly, eyes glowering in the abysmal darkness that had as the sun had set into the horizon, swallowed the forest whole. Nostrils twitched as a pungent odor filled them, wafting over the scent of dampened forest and the fawn, his fawn. He recognized it as belonging to foxes, the sneaky bastards they were. Eyes roved the darkened shadows furiously, nostrils flaring angrily as a eerie cry rang out in the distance, causing the hairs along his nape to stand on end. Crystal blue eyes snapped back to the fawn that stood, frozen, ears erect, body trembling slightly. “Neinn, neinn, neinn…,” If they were coming for the fawn then they would ruin everything - though the way it currently appeared to Týr they had intentions of ruining it anyway. Their calls were spooking the fawn and it would take off further into the forest. Another eerie call broke the silence of the forest, closer this time. The fawn took off and with a snarl of irritation Týr leapt after it, large paws carrying him closer to it, teeth snapping for it’s hind legs. His teeth were mere inches from it when it veered off right suddenly, and Týr careened attempting to follow but stopped when he realized he had lost it in the tangled maze of the unknown forest, though if the yips and barks of the foxes were of any indication he had pushed his prey right into their paws.
A angry huff left the Viking’s lips as he, grudgingly, accepted defeat. Now he had to attempt to find his way back out and head towards Swiftcurrent Creek with nothing to show for his efforts of the day.
a crime so old as the sky and bone