Northstar Vale Echoes of ephasia have haunted you tonight

Saena was built for endurance, but not necessarily speed. She was smaller than most wolves, a mere fifty-some pounds, with a thin and streamlined construction, but it hardly lent her supernatural speed. What Saena was, was agile. She could dart around faster than some larger, dopier wolves could blink their eyes, but when it came to flat-out running, she was only about average in the speed department. She could run for several miles, to be certain, but the black bard had the upper hand here.

She glanced over her shoulder long enough to spot his white-smattered chest drawing closer, and then Dagfinn overtook her. Whether it was easy or not, she was unsure, but she pushed herself until her legs and lungs burned, but was unable to make up the difference. He reached the doe a full two seconds before she did. Panting, she slowed to a trot and reached the doe, muzzle wrinkled in recognition of her unfortunate loss.

"Damnit," she swore, dropping her rump to the ground and heaving in breaths. "You're quick," she told him, and wondered if maybe it was the age difference, though the likelier explanation was that he was lean and his legs were longer than hers. As she caught her breath, she motioned that he could start on the doe if he wanted to. The hunters would eat their fill and then howl their location to the pack so they could also feed—at least, that was her thinking.