Northstar Vale macaroni art

He followed as quietly and quickly as he could, matching his companion's speed until they were prompted to slow down, then to hide, as birds came in to view. They looked... Stupid. Tryphon almost couldn't see where their heads were, as their bodies were so rotund and their colors were so demure. They looked like walking beehives; instead of buzzing, they squabbled amongst themselves.

With the urging of Dagfinn in his ears, and a plan laid out, Tryphon nodded hastily and repositioned himself in preparation for the attack. A part of him felt anxious, for this was his first turkey hunt. Another part, noticing by now that Dagfinn was at least a year younger than himself, felt equal parts embarassed and eager; if he failed he would surely feel the sting of the defeat deep within his already fragile ego. It seemed to Tryphon that his age should denote some level of skill — but he doubted himself, and was likely as skilled as any awkward yearling, which was a crippling thought.

All the same, Tryphon looked to where Dagfinn had situated himself and then turned his attention back to the birds, ready to spring.