The Sunspire a man of words and not of deeds

The sky was just starting to turn from impenetrable darkness to overcast daylight across the wintry mountainside, and the aroma of blood was heavy on its frost-bound air.

Bright red stained the overnight snow, trailing a deep set of frantic prints that traveled for miles along the base of the peak. The markings weaved through the trees and zigzagged across open fields; each step haunted by crimson tears. At times, the path would turn into a crater where the injured creature collapsed, and at least twice the scene seemed to turn violent as another set of tracks converged with the first, spilling more blood each bout.

Exousia spat out plasma and fur as the ailing buck tore away from her yet again. She watched in annoyance as it careened further into the woods. Oh, just die already, she snarled, picking herself up and trotting after it once more. The chase had gone on like this for the better part of three hours, and though her tongue lolled with fatigue, the tenacious virago refused to give up on her prey now.

She figured it would not be too much longer before the deer simply collapsed from exhaustion.