Deepwood Weald Both the slave and the empress

The fox, living fire striding on limbs of soot across the white, lunged away from the snapping of teeth. Raimo watched; he moved to cut across both paths and reached to snap at the creature too, causing it to stumble and click its heels.

He could have finished it quickly there. Together lunging to tear at that vibrant coat. Instead, in a playful mood bourn of good spirits, Raimo would play. Harassing the fox in to moving towards the shadow or twisting himself through the dark of the wood to give it a false sense of security.