Deepwood Weald claws

solharr wasted no time, his broad frame shifting with an easy confidence as he turned toward the forest’s edge. his strides were long, purposeful, the snow crunching under his paws like an anthem to the hunt. he glanced back over his shoulder just once, ensuring y’var’la followed, a flicker of something playful in his pale eyes.

keep up, then, he murmured, a low hum of amusement threading through his words.

the terrain was familiar to him—his paws knew every dip and rise, every faint trace left by the creatures of these woods. the air was sharp and clean, carrying the musk of lynx faintly in its chill.

solharr paused at a ridge, his head tilting as he assessed the faint tracks leading deeper into the underbrush. a predator’s path—light, careful steps that left little more than whispers in the snow. he huffed, the steam of his breath curling in the cold air.

there. his voice was a rumble, quiet but firm, as he gestured with a tilt of his head toward the trail. they move through here. two, maybe three.

he stepped aside then, letting her come forward. you’re quiet enough, he teased lightly, a grin tugging at his lips. show me. but his stance remained ready, muscles taut, prepared to intervene should their quarry prove more challenging than expected.