The Sentinels hunger

open! hoping a @Marcello might hop in here! though multiple people are welcome, impromptu hunt :)

deirdre bounded through her forest, moving after the bloodied trail of a young deer that she knew to be ailing. it was past repair; the scent on the air was sickly, and she had seen that the creatures afflicted limb was ridden with infection. the weather was growing cooler by the day, and though the pack did not starve for food she knew it was better to be well fed than hungry at all. she paused long enough to invite others to join her, before continuing to move swiftly through the undergrowth.

NOTE: In Szymon’s personal timeline, this takes place before his hunting trip to Snowforest Taiga.

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The black-banded Cairn furrowed his brow, looking critically at his handiwork — it was to be a gift for Qilaq, who had spent more and more time away from her adoptive parents following the birth of Blackrock Depths’ first litter. He wasn’t particularly perturbed by this; in fact, he was pleased that his gray-eyed girl had grown so in courage as well as stature. At the heart of things, though, Szymon was a provider — and he looked at the world in relation to what the wolves who mattered to him saw. Furs and skins of any kind were immediately brought home for Doe, who alternately burrowed into them or chewed on them; skulls and antlers were equally shared between the witch doctor and the leviathan, for their fearsome presentation and use in rituals. And now, thanks to the sheepdog, he’d found a gift that suited his stargazing daughter.

A familiar howl drew the angler from his task, his narrow muzzle turning sharply toward Donnelaith as he rose, shook the sand from his salt-crusted fur, and snapped into a ground-eating lope. The borders were open between the packs now, but he still felt a sense of trepidation that showed in a flicker of his hackles as he crossed into the sanctuary of sequoias and threaded his way through unfamiliar territory until he was beside the green-eyed dryad. Deerscent, tinged with an overtone of infection, filled his senses. Bending his head to his brother’s Chosen One, he nuzzled gently at the corner of her jaw with a rumbling growl of fealty and took his place at her flank, falling easily into step with her and dropping back to run behind her as the swath of trees commanded. He did not know the territory well, and the fur of his shoulder brushed even with her hip as he wordlessly implored her to take the lead.

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one ear cupped toward the side as she heard the approach of another of her ilk, though she continued to move throughout her realm. the scent of sea and salt met her nostrils, and though she did not bristle her posture adjusted to one that would inform the other--if a newcomer of the depths--of her position and her reign! ah, but then the tendrils of scent that made each wolf who they were came to her, and that was when szymon's form came to be seen. deirdre smiled to him, her full plume sweeping in many waves to greet him. she nosed him fondly as he briefly drew alongside her, and once he drifted to her flank she turned from him to observe their surroundings briefly. though she would know this forest blind, it had many paths they could take. but the snapping of branches underfoot in the distance caused deirdre to alter her path, the movement subtle to any but the man who would feel the way her muscles shifted as she adjusted their course.

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Forests had a tendency to make the black-banded Cairn slightly claustrophobic — a fact that was made evident by the agitated bristling of his bottlebrush tail. Still, he kept pace with Deirdre easily, dropping back or skirting around trees with ease, always swift to resume his place at her flank. The distant rustle of branches breaking underfoot drew his tattered ears forward upon his skull with mingled suspicion and interest, but they flattened soon after as he surged through the underbrush; putting his faith wholly in his brother’s Chosen One, Szymon too adjusted his course, gathering himself to leap over a fallen log and landing with a soft, untroubled huff as he touched his muzzle reassuringly to the witch queen’s gently curving hip. I am here, the gesture said with an eloquence Szymon could not emulate verbally. Parting his jaws, the golden-eyed wolf allowed his tongue to loll freely from his mouth as his muscles warmed and his blood began to sing with the joy of the hunt.

Before he could fully give himself over to the hunt, though, a summoning call from Doe pulled him from the chase — and with an apologetic rumble and a gentle touch to Deirdre’s hip, he swerved in his course and headed toward the bay.

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