Hideaway Strath Firestorm

With the sudden appearance of not one but three wolves the rest of the the herd including any protective buck abandoned the injured and took off darting as one away from the noise. As the lone deer bellowed. Whrist lips drew back into a vicious grin, she wanted no need to taste the life blood of the deer. She followed along side the deer like the border collie she had acted like to begin the hunt. Nyra tripped up the deer, who despite having been injured for weeks was sill not used to the weakness that her leg forced upon her.

Whirst whom had only been pacing along side the deer up to this point, lunged for the tender spot, she had wanted in the final moment of her spar with Nyra, aimed for and missed, the very tender spot where the base of the jaw met the neck, the spot where she could choke the air from the deer quickly. It was also the spot she had aimed for and failed for in her first hunt with the grandmaster. Maybe the third time was the charm. Oh how she wanted to relish the blood of the deer over her tongue as that deer had tripped over the white female and struggled under the male upon her side. Whrist committed herself to this lunge for it throat if she missed she’d be run over and left behind momentarily if she got it the hunt would be over once the deer could struggle no more.