The Heartwood Slowly tears you apart

sólhárr’s body lowered, muscles taut as a drawn bowstring. the underbrush cloaked him like a second skin, concealing the russet of his coat. his breath was a shallow rhythm, steady and controlled as his sharp gaze locked on the towering buck ahead. its muscles rippled beneath a thick pelt, and its antlers seemed almost like a crown, regal and intimidating. this was a worthy challenge.

his companion, the silvered tundran, positioned himself, waiting. good. sólhárr didn’t need words to trust his capability. his focus was absolute.

with the stealth of a shadow, sólhárr crept forward, each pawfall silent against the forest floor. closer, closer. the stag remained unaware, its attention caught by a distant sound—perhaps a bird or the crunch of leaves far from the wolves. the moment stretched thin, and then, it snapped.

sólhárr lunged, an eruption of power and precision. the buck’s head jerked up in alarm, but it was too late; sólhárr’s teeth found purchase on the thick hide of its hindquarters. his weight dragged the creature off balance, and the forest exploded with movement as the chase began, the buck's panicked strides crashing through the trees.

he snarled through his grip, a signal for kigipigak to join the fray. the hunt was on.