The Bracken Woods Apathy

Feel free to do some PPing, for the hunt C:

At first there is nothing. Warbone was wary, but saw purpose behind the leading steps of inkwell queen. She knew something that he didn't, and he followed without a discernible fear, his eyes blank and roving. Just before any suspicion could foul his consciousness, there came the signs. A snapped twig, the violent hoof impressions of a fleeing animal, fur left in the briars. Jaws salivated, a trill wrinkling down his spine as his muscles began to pick up one by one. His steps grew lighter, carrying himself properly now that The Hunt was nearing. His breaths eased, taking in only what he needed, and everything about him preached of instinct and practice. He no longer appeared hunched and directionless. There was purpose in his stance, a power roiling and fed by the energy vibrating off his companion in electrifying waves.

In the same movement, both animals perked to the streaking of sorrel on their left. Warbone held himself in reins, knowing that he was rigid spine of his attack, while she was the stone arrowhead. He followed her smoothly, expertly—neither of them making a step outside of the other. They were synchronized. A malevolent Cerberus, influenced by impulse and the dauntingly titilating scent of fear, giving away their prey.