Týr had not taken notice to the shadow observing him, for the forest was full of shadows, shallow and deep, and in the cover of the darkened foliage failed to see the sunflower yellow eyes that would have, otherwise, given Haunter away. The loss of the fawn was disappointing, and the weight of his failure hung heavy in the young Nord’s breast. Ragnar would have not let the deviant thieves take his meal, but, Sveinn had observed that his father had a sort of …reckless abandon, and while Týr himself had found himself doing reckless things - just as any other would - he was more …dignified than his father. Defeat had been handed unto him in a corroded platter and he was left with no choice but to chalk it up as it was: a loss. Mistakes had been made, and now, Týr was forced with identifying them, observing them, and learning from them. With an annoyed flick of his tail the young Viking turned and began to trudge through the tangles of webs, roots and earth. A pause was given only when a voice called out to him from the shadows.
Pupils enlarged within their pools of crystalline irises as the silver marked royal peered over his shoulder, nostrils flaring to inhale the familiar scent of the Creek and a scent he briefly associated as Haunter though their meeting had been short lived for Fox had shooed him off; finding the tell-tale eyes that he had missed earlier. He nearly had an urge to inquire of the shadow cloaked man how long he had been there, but the sentence had told Týr exactly what he had wanted to know. A while. Or at least long enough to watch Týr fail. Týr’s ears burned beneath the short chocolate fur that covered them, whiskers trembling as he sucked in a deep breath of damp earth, woods, and the metallic and pungent scent of the butchered fawn the foxes were feasting upon.
“I was watching to see what it would do,” Týr commented, disliking the whole ‘prone to hesitation’ remark that had slipped from the other; however Týr remained determined not to let it show how that had gotten beneath his skin. “Mistakes are healthy now and again, to remind us to be humble about our abilities,” He spoke how he thought and shrugged simply. “I will hunt twice as much to make up the loss.” It meant more work, but now Týr had to push himself because his failure had been seen by another, because he felt a pang of jealousy, embarrassment, and an urge to show that he was better than his mistake.
a crime so old as the sky and bone