The ridge was a battlefield where the earth fought itself, caught between the slumbering heat of the volcano and the ancient, crushing weight of the glacier. Now, in the dead of winter, the war was silent. Snow buried the rocky western slopes, deep and unforgiving, save for patches where the subterranean warmth melted the drifts into slush and rising steam, the breath of a sleeping giant.
Anundr moved against the wind, a dark tear in the white tapestry of the world. He was a ragged creature, his coat a matted fortress of coal-black fur and tawny undergrowth, thick with the grease of old meals and tangled with briars that refused to let go. He did not groom himself for vanity; he wore the debris of the wild like armor. His yellow eyes, sharp and sulfurous, cut through the flying snow, scanning the treeline where the evergreen forest faded into the exposed rock.
He was not merely hungry; he was hollowed out, a vessel waiting to be filled with hot blood. The wind shifted, carrying a scent that made his hackles rise; musk, pine, and the heavy, wet smell of life. A caribou, perhaps lost from the heard.
Anundr lowered his body, his belly fur brushing the crust of the snow. Down slope, near a patch of steam-warmed earth where the grass still struggled to grow, stood a stag. The beast was gaunt, its breath pluming in the frigid air, scraping at the ground with a majestic, desperate persistence.
He crept forward, placing his paws with a silence that belied his savage appearance. The Old Ways demanded a test of strength, a collision of bone and will. He would not rush. He would let the cold seep into the stag’s bones, let the wind mask his approach until he was close enough to see the panic flare in the prey's dark eye.
Anundr moved against the wind, a dark tear in the white tapestry of the world. He was a ragged creature, his coat a matted fortress of coal-black fur and tawny undergrowth, thick with the grease of old meals and tangled with briars that refused to let go. He did not groom himself for vanity; he wore the debris of the wild like armor. His yellow eyes, sharp and sulfurous, cut through the flying snow, scanning the treeline where the evergreen forest faded into the exposed rock.
He was not merely hungry; he was hollowed out, a vessel waiting to be filled with hot blood. The wind shifted, carrying a scent that made his hackles rise; musk, pine, and the heavy, wet smell of life. A caribou, perhaps lost from the heard.
Anundr lowered his body, his belly fur brushing the crust of the snow. Down slope, near a patch of steam-warmed earth where the grass still struggled to grow, stood a stag. The beast was gaunt, its breath pluming in the frigid air, scraping at the ground with a majestic, desperate persistence.
He crept forward, placing his paws with a silence that belied his savage appearance. The Old Ways demanded a test of strength, a collision of bone and will. He would not rush. He would let the cold seep into the stag’s bones, let the wind mask his approach until he was close enough to see the panic flare in the prey's dark eye.
nowke smelled a stench that did not belong to him, nor the reeking bear hide slung across his back smelling still of @Skorpa and his pungent odor.
the fur along his spine rises on instinct, a silent bristle of young male arrogance and inherited defensiveness. he lowers his head between thickening, growing shoulders and steps ghost-soft through the snow until he can peer over the ridge.
there: a black brute crouched low in the steam-warm hollow, stalking a stag. the male is huge. ragged. moving with a practiced diligence. but very obviously hungry.
nowkē’s lip lifts just a fraction. he holds still after that, poised, coiled, deciding whether this hunt is worth helping in… or worth stealing.
the stag blows steam into the frozen air, unaware of the two predators tracking it now.
the fur along his spine rises on instinct, a silent bristle of young male arrogance and inherited defensiveness. he lowers his head between thickening, growing shoulders and steps ghost-soft through the snow until he can peer over the ridge.
there: a black brute crouched low in the steam-warm hollow, stalking a stag. the male is huge. ragged. moving with a practiced diligence. but very obviously hungry.
nowkē’s lip lifts just a fraction. he holds still after that, poised, coiled, deciding whether this hunt is worth helping in… or worth stealing.
the stag blows steam into the frozen air, unaware of the two predators tracking it now.
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