Deepwood Weald claws

sólhárr’s ears flicked at her words, though his pace did not falter. the weight of the lynx hung heavy against his jaw, but it was a satisfying burden—a trophy of their success. her teasing tone brought the faintest tug of amusement to his own lips, though he offered no immediate reply.

he stopped briefly, shifting his stance to adjust the lynx, then turned his golden eye toward y’var’la. she spoke boldly, but he saw no false pride in her. her sharpness, her confidence—it was what forneskja needed.

perhaps, next time, you’ll be quicker, he said, his deep voice carrying a hint of humor as he resumed his pace. the glint in his eye betrayed his enjoyment of her challenge.

the grove came into view through the frost-laden trees, their hunt drawing to its natural conclusion. solharr cast a glance at y’var’la once more, the snow-dusted trail stretching ahead.

you’ve earned your place, y’var’la. forneskja will be stronger for it. with those final words, he strode forward, the promise of future hunts already lighting a spark of anticipation in his chest.