Lone Star Mountain graustufen

the significance of such a natural sync to their brotherly stride did not pass by stigmata unnoticed. his own heart drummed and shuddered excitedly - giving him a high trot and a heathen's grin - but the energy coursing through him was, for once, without the tension of a challenge. what he typically felt in the presence of a worthy opponent had transformed intuitively into the knowledge that that worthiness was not an opposer, but a comrade, and he would be loathe to ever rid himself of how powerful he felt with this wolf beside him. at this wolf's side. it almost didn't matter which way it was seen.

the warhound felt like he was getting ahead of himself; picturing the miles of unseen ventures falling away beneath them in eternal locomotion, even as they traveled just a fraction of such distances to recover their fallen prize.

as they observed the horned warrior, and its dying moments, stigmata pressed quietly, very gently into the nameless wolf's brawn-riddled side. "stigmata," he introduced, meeting the steel lilac of his companion's gaze for a pointed moment, before surging forward to gorge himself on their ritual feast - the first of many, if stigmata had anything to say about it. he took immediately the exposed side neck and shoulder, leaving everything else down to the hock for mahler.