Moonsong Glacier ram hunt

solharr’s eye burned like a brand as the ram’s horn raked its savage arc, gouging deep into his right side. the sharp, tearing pain stole his breath for a moment, and the world tilted—snow glaring red as the sun shimmered across its frozen surface.

but the man of the north, forged by ice and violence, would not falter.

through the haze of agony, a feral snarl erupted from his chest, raw and primal. his tail raised high, a flag of defiance and dominance against the beast that dared mar him. blood slicked his vision, staining the white world crimson, but his focus remained razor-sharp.

sólhárr lunged with renewed fury, his power a thunderous force against the ram’s dwindling strength. he met the creature head-on, his jaws locking onto its thick neck with a crushing grip. the ram bellowed, its powerful body thrashing in a last act of rebellion, but the northern wolf held fast, his resolve unyielding.

with a savage wrench, he tore through sinew and flesh, warm blood spilling onto the snow in a grotesque, steaming pool. the ram’s struggles slowed, its life ebbing away with each weakening pulse. sólhárr growled low, refusing to release until the beast slumped fully beneath him.

blood dripped from his torn face and matted chest as he rose over their conquest, his breath ragged but victorious. the ram lay still, its black coat now a tapestry of red, its power finally quelled.

sólhárr staggered slightly but refused to yield his stance. his good eye shifted to luhtar, who stood wounded but resolute. it’s done, he rumbled, his voice rough, as if carved from the glaciers themselves. we take it back. no rest now.