Duck Lake so i made for the creek, where she and i did meet

@Aria - but AW to anyone else that wants to come in  -- rolls done here - you rly cant make this bleep up - GUESS THE GODS WANT IT!!

it had been no small feat tracking the hind that made her way across the reservation, her left fore dragging as she went. thorn could not believe his luck -- first, to find an elusive and solitary doe, and second of all, to find one that was already weakened by winter's cold bite.

from a distance he surmised she must have an abcsess in the cleft of her heel, for she would not press upon it, and was lame. he did not chance to wonder why, or how, she came upon this misfortune -- he only thanked whatever gods may be for shining favor upon him that windy and cheerless winter day.

he had approached her from the front, knowing his risk for being detected was greater, but the reward for ambushing far more riskless -- for if he came from the front she would not be able to assail him with her hind hooves, and would be forced to gather her limbs under her (particularly the lame one) and spin away -- all of which would take time, giving the soot-black eyjolfur a considerable advantage.

he sprung from the thicket, much like a crocodile might rise from murky depths -- first its nose and prehistoric eyes visible, then its fangs -- and much like his reptilian counterpart his prey was ambushed by surprise and dragged down alive, so that she might struggle in the snow under the force of his grip.

she had not struggled for long before she managed a hind hoof under him -- a resounding smack sounded as her kick connected with skull, splitting the brute's lips and forcing him to release her. she did not make it long before he felled her again, this time receiving the full brunt of a double-barrel kick to his chest.

a reckless move he immediately regretted, for no sooner had he worried her to exhaustion, did he feel and dread the sensation that overcame him. he was wounded - both in his muzzle, and a new tightness in his chest -- and a wolf injured in the face of the hunt often faced the same terrible fate as the stilled doe beneath his bloodied muzzle.

it was no easy accomplishment to drag the hind, and with her flesh yet untouched, thorn was loathe to leave his kill to gather aria. thus, he limped and dragged and hauled and grunted his way to the steep banks of the river bordering the creek, and it was then he threw back his head in a distinguishable howl -- one that aria, and any wolf in swiftcurrent would hear.