Deepwood Weald claws

Y’var’la watched with an air of quiet admiration, her gaze fixed on the swift precision with which Sólhárr took down the lynx. His focus was unwavering, and there was something undeniably impressive in his approach.

As the lynx’s body fell still, she took a step forward, her posture smooth but alert. She didn’t rush—she never did—but her eyes gleamed with a flicker of approval as she approached the kill, her gaze lingering on the scarlet-stained snow and the lifeless form of the creature.

“A clean kill,” she remarked thoughtfully. She rose to her full height now, eyes meeting his in a hint of challenge.

“Your turn to lead, I hope?” she said, her words laced with a teasing edge as she gave him a playful, knowing look. The hunt was his, after all.