Bramblepoint adamantine chains
so lay your hands across
my beating heart, love
938 Posts
Ooc — Rhys
Ranger
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#1
All Welcome 
The early hours of evening afford him the opportunity to free himself from the mountainside again to hunt. Easy steps had brought him down along and through the stratum slopes to the rolling hills where tall grasses were still wet from rain. Clouds still streaked the horizon as far as he could see, the night sky to the east flashed with storms too distant to raise concern.

Dirge made haste into the natural gullies between the hills, his nose close to the damp earth and all therein. It wasn't impossible to track by scent in such conditions but he relied on his vision to aid him to find a suitable set of tracks—rabbit. It wasn't quite the venison or antler package @Hydra had requested of him earlier, but it would do. He could have easily sought another to come out with him, but once again he felt the task at hand was better done on his own.

With the events at Moonspear turning political and still soured, he took pleasure in what snippets he could take in solitude. Hydra had been keen to keep him informed, to share her thoughts and take his into consideration, but now that her own time to whelp was drawing near he found himself troubled with it all. Sympathetic even towards the plight that would surely face Speedy now that her own burdens were brought to light.

He thought to track down the she-wolf, to urge her to run.

He wondered if perhaps his mother had considered such a thought.

Dirge went still as he moved through the grasses, a sudden halt to taste the air and draw in the scent of his prey. Met with a fresher, certain direction to travel, he was off again just as swift as he had stopped. The hare was close, somewhere nestled where the grass knotted and tangled by design in any number of thin patches. Summer strawberries assailed his senses as he passed over one such pocket with only evidence he had come moments too late; it evicted the trace of his own conspiratorial notions in favor of the hunt.

Yet he smelled it, lurking there against the cool earth. Careful in the placement of his feet as he closed in, Dirge sprang at the first hint of movement in the foliage. His jaws closed in on something blindly but he held it tight and cut a sharp leporine cry short.

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