Swiftcurrent Creek aim; it's a one shot take down

She was there—an inhale, an exhale. Perhaps this was some of the meditative zen Arric seemed to refer to when he spoke of it. And then she was gone, and Akavir blinked to empty air.

His muzzle swung in her direction—his eyes following her languidly. Lissome, willow-y, perhaps uncertain of the appeal she had. The invitation was there when she did not run far, and when her eyes flashed back to him, Akavir had only a moment to decide.

And so gut instinct he went with, and shooting forward, the man gave chase, a spray of snow from his large paws some of the only noise in the otherwise quiet winter.