Raven's Watch chivalry is dead

the morning came and went. the sun rose, now pinned to where faust could no longer evade it. he had stayed outside of the den, guarding, as a man should. no matter how fired up he got with iskava, he wouldn't abandon his post.

he came and went. a hare in his jaws, a fresh kill. he had picked from the doe carcass himself, but @Ayovi needed something fresh. stale meat wasn't suited for women. only men.

he threw it down the hovel of the den and marked her scent post with his own raise of a leg. sitting outside, he didn't say a word. he wouldn't wake her, only her own stomach could.

Fresh hare is deliciously distracting, impossible to ignore. She writhes with slaver, slanting her face deeper into the mud-packed dam. Siberian eyes burning, she kicks the rabbit back out into the snow, willing it to smack the broad-faced hunter on it's ascent.
“No more hare. My feet are raw. I need goat’s milk.” Ayovi rests her head back down upon the swollen feet. But her ears are perked.
Listening.

pang

the hare smacked his face with a childlike gesture. he froze. taking a deep breath, he grumbled, resisting the urge to snap her fucking neck.

fucking goat's mil— he rolled his eyes, scoffing, contemplating how he would obtain such a thing. he wasn't even sure if the goats reared kid's yet, more or less, if he could take one down. he has before, but not without the help of a man from a long era ago— @Tvar.

breathe, breathe! he reminded himself catastrophically. with a turn, he looked to her.

lets go, then.

“I cannot walk.” Not comfortably, and not without shooting pains through the soles of torn flesh. The inference was clear in the heated tone that sought to snake his ears. Faust had refused her time to heal, now old cuts had reopened.
It was not feminine behavior. Women endured, they did not complain. It weakened her stature and would have labeled her a disagreeable mate.
But men also hunted. They tended equally to their woman’s needs, and if the mountain wolf took stock in some traditions from her native Ashēer, then he would go for the goat and not return without filled jaws.
Her head shifts, she does not turn to see, only to swivel a silver ear in his direction.

was she pouting? he knew her feet hurt, but that's life! with her head swiveled to the opposite end, she had been throwing a tantrum, it appeared. with an aggravated huff, he firmly planted his feet into the hardened soil.

you want pregnant goat? he asked with a ultimately cool, underlying cadence of death. he even put on a forced smile for his beloved iskava.

it would take him about...shit, he didn't know— an hour? more?— to actually hunt the damn thing. he at least wanted some clarity before he made the trek.

It is difficult to lay still while her body is filling with secret adrenaline. She plays her part convincingly, she hopes, though there is no exaggeration to the severity of her paws– only that her mind had become so numbed to the pain these past few days that she could scarcely feel it anymore. Anger and fear warred within her, but if she could keep still he might not be able to taste these conflicting emotions of hers.
He would be miles away, hunting for a goat that may not even exist in these foothills.
“Yes,” she keeps the trill from her voice, for once making no further moves to bleed his ire.

faust tilted his head at her, the green of his eyes sharp and measuring, but he seemed to see nothing out of the ordinary. his broad shoulders rolled as if to dispel tension, and without a word, he turned away from the ice woman.

he moved with purpose, his gait steady and unhurried as he descended into the foothills, his focus narrowing on the task of the hunt. the cold air carried the faint tang of potential prey, and faust's nostrils flared as he drew in the scent, committing to the trail of something worth the chase.

as the distance between them grew, his mind sharpened, thoughts consumed by the familiar rhythm of the pursuit. the promise of fresh game dulled any lingering suspicion, his faith in her stillness and compliance left unshaken. faust disappeared into the shadowed terrain, leaving ayovi alone with her thoughts and the choices she would make.

Slowly, and only when his footsteps are long swallowed by powdery knolls, does Ayovi unfurl in the space, scenting urine, oncoming winds, and nothing else. Blood beneath skin begins to stir, she looks out into the white silence and summons her nerve.