Dragoncrest Cliffs return of the pistolero

The doe fought against his grasp, but Njord was dogged in his hold. His spry sinew and strong muscles kept the prey still long enough for Erzulie’s experienced fangs to find their mark. The queen strangled the beast, pinching its throat. It fell to it’s knees until it turned on its side. The fight was over.

It was the largest kill they had made since the storms began. Njord’s heart thrummed with victory and his bellied rumbled in hunger. He stepped back, the warm blood still fresh on his maw. Haunt stood besides him, the white tail of the deer hanging from her mouth. Njord let out a loud AWOO and cheered while Erzulie inquired more thoughtfully about any injury.

“’Atta girl!” he crowed, headbutting Haunt’s shoulder. “Yer a gen-u-ine pistol! All fangs an’ fury! An’ ya got hawkeyes in yer skull. What a find!” he proudly commended the young wolf for such a good hunt. He nipped at her playfully, still energized from the fight.

He was more gentle and courteous to Erzulie. She was their captain, after all. Njord slid past her, his tongue darting out to lick her chin. “Sapphique will feast today!” he proclaimed to the huntress. She had led the charge and landed the final blow. Njord’s deferential body language was clear, but he licked his chops as the smell of fresh meat wafted towards them. He waited, now, for Erzulie to feed first or call the others.