Overture Downs winds of east

Morwenna’s heart thrummed like a war drum in her chest, the raw simplicity of the scene carving itself into her mind. Her ear flickered at Sun Eater’s words, his tone steady and without question, as primal as the display unfolding before them. This was no delicate weaving of treaties or measured negotiations—this was the pure, unyielding truth of the wild.

The clatter of antlers rang out, echoing through the crisp air, the sound of bone on bone resounding like ancient thunder. Morwenna’s gaze shifted between the two combatants, the younger male’s speed meeting the older’s weight in a struggle for dominance and survival.

When first blood spilled, she inhaled sharply, the scent of iron wafting toward her, mingling with the frost-laden air. A slow exhale escaped her, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath aligning with the tension of the scene. She could not look away. The younger bull’s triumph loomed ever closer, his bloodied antlers turning the tide against his elder adversary.

Sun Eater moved, and Morwenna followed, her steps as light as whispers on the wind. The two wolves maneuvered closer to the chaos, the rutting focus of the caribou leaving them blind to their hunters.

When the old bull’s bellow shattered the air, the river of crimson from his wound flowing freely, Morwenna’s hollowed gaze flicked toward Sun Eater. His sharp eye glinted with intent, but her focus returned quickly to the younger bull, who now stood triumphant. The harem flocked to him, their fear driving them in frantic leaps as they fled the scene.

It was the older bull, wounded and alone, who turned to meet her eyes. His defiance faltered for but a moment before Sun Eater’s charge came like a storm breaking upon the plains. Morwenna did not hesitate. Her paws struck the ground, powerful limbs propelling her into a run, shadowing her companion as they descended upon their prey.

The rhythm of life and death pulsed through her, primal and unyielding. And as the hunt began, she let it consume her.