Duskfire Glacier roakshore

the scent was thick now, the musk of the beast curling through the cold, the promise of blood hot in his veins.
fenris ran beside him, the way they had always done—boys, then men, forged in the same fire, sharpened by the same hunger. the trail ahead twisted, the prints veering toward the treeline, and faust bared his teeth in something like satisfaction.
we'll push it toward the cliffs, he murmured, barely sparing his brother a glance. cut off its retreat. no mistakes.
his muscles coiled, his focus narrowing. soon, it would break from the brush, and when it did—
stay close.
not a warning. a promise.

up to you what they are hunting