King Elk Forest ᛒlóð hunt

aw for recruiting!

a fresh kill hung from his jaws; a young spike, head and neck hanging limply as he drags it along. he was thin from the winter, but enough to feed the jarl through the night and leave scraps for his favorite vulture (@Matsi).

the lumbering warrior drags it into the glen he has made home for himself, shoulders aching with the effort to pull and the thrill of his hunt. all while his breath puffs in visible clouds. blood trails behind him in a winding path, staining the frost dark.

here, before his den, jarl drops the body. then, he begins to gut it.

yellowed and chipped teeth used to open the belly, steam rising in the dark from the exposed meat which had been living only minutes ago. warm against the winter air.

his breath is louder now, heavier with effort.