Cedar Sweep On your own time.

Like an arrow nocked and loosed, the sýn shot forward, her lean frame practically flying into the deep shadows before them. Quick on her heels, the northerner followed, the pursuit of their prey fueling the fire in his belly so that it fanned to consume his soul. The chase was the dance, the beat of their paws, their hearts, the drum. The only thing missing was the melody, which Stjornuati could not help but provide.

A long and low howl rent the air, leaving the man breathless as he ran. What he lacked in ability to track, he made up for in spades with his ability to hunt. Bounding through the forest, the wolf of Stormhaven could do little but give into the demand of his instinct, diving in close to grab one of the ungulate's legs. His teeth would shut on the bone with force, the scream of the creature ringing in his ears.

It was up to the red little sýn what would happen next.