Silver Moraine kill

They two had both seen it, and he made it known in making certain she was aware of their target; Tikigâk answered with a nod of her own, and her stride lengthened. 

She is a living weapon, a beast honed by natures way, tempered in its savage forge—her whetstone, every hunt, every battle… countless, now. No soft edges left to her, if there had ever been any to begin with. 

He, water over stone—she, magma consuming earth. Slower, perhaps, but with a steady progression that left devastation in its wake—a killing force, no matter the speed. She moved in ground-eating strides, and as it stumbled Tikigâk knew its end was near. Had it continued on the stride it had regained, the hunt could have proceeded for hours more. Nothing she was not used to. The hunting of a bison could last the setting of many suns. 

They moved now in tandem, both driven by something ancient and wild as they gave chase—together, indomitable. Each stride of his was smooth, controlled, strong. The man alongside her is a warhammer in motion, a crushing force—frost and snow sprayed from underfoot, like shattered stone beneath his unbreakable anvil. 

Their prey flagged, and Tikigâk would follow the feeling of the body alongside her, flexing the muscles in her hindquarters as she surged forth, a dark bullet loosed from its chamber that would not miss its mark… and he, the brutal backswing of his own bodily weapon before its crushing blow. They two could not be stopped, then—only endured.