Bearclaw Valley woodland spirit

stigmata continued on in his restless daze, having recently alternated from dedicating his vigilance to their nearest surroundings to a relentless scouring his homefront and its own weaknesses. this he had tried to avoid for as long as possible, but as patient as the hunter could be, some things simply required a more heavy-handed approach... he had to remind himself that everything would happen in due time; it was the only thing keeping him at bay -- keeping him busy.

catching something weaker and taking its life satisfied him more than traveling his spirit away. killing, and having that act be one in the same as providing, was almost more than a reward for stigmata: a hypercarnivore through and through. for he was always hunting; even in his sleep he hunted for something more, something unobtainable, something godlike. he was hunting now, in his own way, crouched at the bed of a thin creek, tongue dipping repetitively as he peered about himself stringently.

@Nunataq