Overture Downs winds of east

Morwenna could only watch, spellbound, as Sun Eater engaged the bull with a mastery that bordered on artistry. His every movement was calculated yet fluid, a balance of instinct and precision honed over countless hunts. The caribou's bellow reverberated in her chest, a sound both primal and haunting, but it was Sun Eater’s dance with death that truly captivated her.

Each lunge, each sidestep, was a testament to his experience. The way he moved with the bull—never too close, never too far—was a rhythm all its own, like the beat of an ancient drum. Morwenna’s breath caught as he narrowly avoided the deadly arc of antlers, his muscles coiling and releasing with perfect timing. It was a performance, and the forest was his stage.

She felt her own body tense in response, her paws shifting slightly as if she, too, might join the chase. But this was his moment. Her role, for now, was to observe, to learn. Her star-kissed eyes flickered between Sun Eater’s deft maneuvers and the bull’s desperate attempts to defend itself. There was brutality in the exchange, yes, but also a strange beauty in its inevitability.

When his back turned to her, circling, circling, Morwenna felt a shiver run down her spine. She understood now—this was not just survival. It was respect for the life taken, the rhythm of the hunt, and the bond between predator and prey. Without realizing it, she whispered softly into the air, her voice barely audible over the chaos: You honor them.