Deepwood Weald claws

sólhárr's golden gaze swept over the snow-covered expanse, sharp and unyielding. the faint tracks they had followed wove a clear story, and now, nestled within the thicket, the predator lurked. its scent lingered in the chilled air, sharp and distinct, mingling with the frost.

he moved with the ease of a seasoned hunter, his large frame surprisingly silent against the snow as he closed the distance. he flicked his tail in a silent gesture to y'var'la, signaling her to hold her position. this part was his.

there—a shadow of movement within the dense brush. the lynx crouched low, its pointed ears twitching as if aware of their presence. sólhárr’s lips pulled back in a silent snarl, golden eyes narrowing. his body coiled like a spring, every muscle taut and waiting.

without hesitation, he lunged.

his claws struck first, piercing through fur and flesh as the lynx hissed and twisted to retaliate. its claws raked against his shoulder, but sólhárr didn’t falter. his jaws followed, clamping down on the creature's neck with a ferocity that left no room for escape. the lynx thrashed once, twice, then stilled beneath his weight.

he rose slowly, the lynx limp in his grasp, blood painting the pristine snow beneath them. sólhárr turned to y'var'la, his golden gaze gleaming with a mix of triumph and the lingering adrenaline of the kill. he dropped the lynx at his paws and huffed, gesturing for her to come forward.