Whitebark Stream mathron

rolled a 2 side dice in the tabletop, sadly an unsuccessful attack for my boy :c

She would watch. As expected. Astier returned her nod, nothing more, then turned his focus to the task at hand. The caribou stood near the stream, its legs trembling beneath its own weight as it lowered its head to drink; frail. He could almost see the bones pressing against its hide, its breath uneven. And yet, he knew better than to assume it was weak. Even in sickness, caribou endured; even in their final moments, they fought.
His gaze traced the beast’s form; its tattered coat, the curve of its ribs, the sharp tines of its antlers. Those posed the only real threat. Precision would be key. A single misstep, and the brittle creature could lash out, goring him before it fell.
The scent of musk and dying flesh thickened in the frigid air as he began his approach, each movement deliberate, calculated. The silence of the tundra wrapped around him like a shroud, yet the snow, treacherous and unfaithful, cracked beneath his weight. The caribou’s ears flicked. Its head lifted.
So be it.
The wraith sprang, his muscles coiling, but the beast turned at the last moment, staggering away just as his jaws snapped at empty air. He landed hard, the cold biting into him as the caribou stumbled forward, regaining its balance. A low growl rumbled from his chest, anger simmering beneath his otherwise glacial composure. His breath curled in the air as he righted himself.
This would not happen again.
He flicked his gaze toward Gjalla, as if measuring her reaction, then returned his full attention to the caribou. The creature was winded but still standing, sides heaving, nostrils flaring. It knew it was being hunted now. Astier’s lips curled back. His next strike would not miss. He would see it dead.