Deepwood Weald claws

hunting thread w solharr for two lynxes, AW!

the cold morning broke across the forest in hushed tones, the rising sun casting its pale light over the frost-kissed earth. sólhárr stood at the edge of the trees, his breath visible in the chilled air as he surveyed the wilderness before him. today’s task weighed heavy on his shoulders, a burden of pride and expectation that had festered since the moment the bride price had been named.

six white foxes, seven otter, two lynx, and one seal. and more—so much more.

the price for callyope. the price to prove his worth.

he had already begun to chip away at the list, but each name on it was a thorn in his side. this was not his way, not his tradition. the wolves of forneskja sought to build strength through unity and action, not through the measured tokens of approval laid before a matron’s feet. yet here he was, bound by his promise, determined to carry the weight.

today, he would find the lynxes.

their hides would serve the moonwoman, and their deaths would inch him closer to the woman who had become his sun.

with a growl low in his throat, sólhárr adjusted the deer pelt on his shoulders, its weight both a comfort and a reminder. his golden eyes burned with a singular focus as he stepped into the shadows of the forest, the hunt beginning anew.

today, there would be blood. and with it, progress.