Moonsong Glacier ram hunt

the frost bit sharper today, the wind slicing through the air like a blade. sólhárr stood at the edge of the glacier, his breath clouding in the biting cold as he gazed across the expanse of white. the mountains loomed tall and unforgiving, their frozen edges glinting like jagged teeth under the pale sun. his body was a silhouette of dark strength against the endless stretch of snow.

beside him stood @Luhtar, a wolf as weathered and calloused by the ice as sólhárr himself. there was no other he trusted for this task, no other who could match his steps on the frost-hardened ground. together they were a force of nature, a pair of hunters forged by the unrelenting cold of the north.

today, sólhárr said, his voice low and steady, we finish this. his amber eyes burned with determination, scanning the horizon for the beast they sought. the black ram was no ordinary quarry—its pelt as dark as a starless night, its horns curling in fierce defiance of the world. it was the final piece of his bride price, the culmination of weeks of tireless pursuit.

his gaze flicked to luhtar, a brief nod of acknowledgment passing between them. sólhárr flexed his paws against the icy ground, feeling the strength in his calloused pads. the air was electric, charged with the weight of their task.

ahead, beyond the veil of snow, a faint movement caught his eye. the ram. it stood in a clearing, a shadow against the whiteness, its breath steaming in the cold. sólhárr’s pulse quickened, but his focus remained sharp. this was no ordinary hunt; it was a trial of endurance, strength, and cunning.

we move, he said quietly, his voice a rumble in the stillness. without another word, sólhárr stepped forward, his movements deliberate and silent, every sense attuned to the challenge that lay ahead. the final hunt had begun.

Luhtar stood at Sólhárr’s side, the cold biting into his muzzle as he drew a slow, steady breath. His broad frame was wrapped in the northern chill, thick fur doing its part to keep warmth close. He had been on many hunts before—he and Sólhárr both—but this one carried a weight that settled quietly on his shoulders like fresh snow.

The final piece to a puzzle. With the slay of this Ram, his leaders may yet finally be wed.

They moved forward.

Where Sólhárr led, Luhtar followed, their steps nearly soundless on the crust of ice and snow. Every muscle in Luhtar’s body coiled, ready for the explosive burst of speed that might be required at any moment.

He trusted Sólhárr’s judgment, his strength.

This would end here, in the heart of winter’s embrace, and they would return triumphant.

the black ram. its defiant stance against the wind told him it was aware of their presence, though unbothered for now. formidable beasts like this did not panic—they fought, they survived.

his ear flicked toward luhtar, who moved with the same practiced precision. sólhárr trusted few as he trusted him, and their steps fell into a rhythm as natural as the falling snow.

it won’t bolt far, sólhárr murmured, his voice low but certain. but it’ll make us work for it.

his amber gaze swept over the terrain ahead—the uneven glacier riddled with hidden crevices and slick ice patches. sólhárr nodded toward the right, where a jagged rise of snow-crusted rock provided an elevated vantage point. we’ll split here. push it to the flatlands below. easier to close in.

he didn’t wait for luhtar’s reply, knowing the other would follow the plan with steadfast loyalty. sólhárr veered left, his movements purposeful and quiet despite his size. every step was calculated, his weight shifting to the pads of his paws to avoid a fatal misstep on the treacherous ground.

ahead, the ram raised its massive head, steam huffing from its nostrils like a dragon of the frost. sólhárr felt the thrum of anticipation build in his chest, his pulse quickening with the promise of the kill. this was what he lived for—the chase, the struggle, the triumph.

he glanced back once, a flicker of amber meeting luhtar’s steady gaze. keep your wits, sólhárr said, the barest hint of a grin tugging at his lips. this one’s smarter than it looks.

and then he surged forward, a shadow against the white, ready to drive the beast toward its fate.

Luhtar dipped his muzzle in a silent acknowledgment of the plan, yellow eyes narrowing as he took measure of the terrain.

Sólhárr veered left, and Luhtar moved right without hesitation, his paws finding careful purchase on ice-slick stones. He could feel the ram’s presence, a heavy point of resistance in the cold expanse. The beast wouldn’t panic, but it wouldn’t yield easily either.

Luhtar respected that.

Climbing toward the jagged outcrop, ears straining for any shift in the wind or crack in the ice. He circled wide, positioning himself where the ram’s escape route would narrow. The rocky vantage—a place from which to watch and react as Sólhárr pushed the beast into open ground.

He would keep his wits. He would be patient. The ram would find no easy escape, no safe harbor. If it charged him, he’d meet it head-on. If it tried to bolt, he’d close in behind, boxing it in as Sólhárr pushed forward.

The wind bit at his nose, the distant crunch of Sólhárr’s advance muted by the sweeping gusts. Somewhere below, the ram huffed steam into the winter air.

Soon enough, the moment would come—a flash of movement, a thunder of hooves on ice.

sólhárr’s strides tore through the icy terrain, his movements a mixture of brute force and practiced agility. the ram was a formidable shadow ahead, its hooves digging into the frosted earth with stubborn defiance. its horns glinted like obsidian as it glanced back, weighing the predator behind it.

but sólhárr was relentless.

he let out a guttural snarl, low and sharp, designed to press the beast forward. the ram’s muscles bunched, and it surged ahead, seeking the open flatlands where it could maneuver better. sólhárr’s eyes darted toward the rocky vantage where luhtar waited, the other wolf positioned perfectly to cut off the escape route.

the thrill of the hunt burned in his chest, a familiar fire that drove him to close the distance. the icy ground betrayed the ram’s steps, its hooves skittering for purchase on the slick surface. sólhárr used it to his advantage, angling his path to force the beast into luhtar’s trap.

run, sólhárr hissed under his breath, his voice carried away by the howling wind. his paws struck the ground with powerful certainty, closing in just enough to keep the ram from turning back.

and then it happened—a break in the stalemate.

the ram, its path narrowing, charged headlong into luhtar’s reach, a last desperate attempt to outmaneuver its hunters. sólhárr slowed just slightly, his amber eyes locked on the scene as he prepared to intervene if needed. the hunt was reaching its climax, and sólhárr’s trust in luhtar burned as hot as his determination.

From his perch atop the rocky rise, Luhtar watched with keen intensity as the black ram barreled toward him, its dark form cutting a path through the pale, frozen world. The creature’s panic had not yet frayed into blind terror, but desperation shone in its eyes.

It was a seasoned fighter, determined to break free. Sólhárr and Luhtar were not the first to try and hunt it.

But they would be the last. Luhtar would make certain of this.

He remained motionless, every muscle coiled in anticipation. Sólhárr’s driving force had worked perfectly, funneling the ram straight into his grasp. He felt the familiar surge of adrenaline hot in his veins. The wind howled across the glacier, stirring loose flecks of ice that dusted his fur.

The cold bit deep.

As the ram neared, Luhtar moved—suddenly, powerfully. He leapt down from his vantage, broad paws absorbing the shock of landing with surprising grace. His shape loomed large in the ram’s path, jaws parted just enough to flash a hint of teeth. There was no malice, just purpose—predator meeting prey at the decisive moment.

The ram’s hooves scrabbled on the slick ice, trying to pivot away, but Luhtar lunged in with a swift, calculated strike. He aimed to grip the ram’s shoulder, to arrest its forward momentum and throw it off balance.

sólhárr surged forward, his pace relentless, the cold a fleeting afterthought in the face of the hunt. he reached luhtar’s side just as the ram retaliated with a furious lunge, its horns swinging wide like scythes through the frost-bitten air.

steady, sólhárr growled, his voice rough with exertion and resolve, as he darted toward the ram's flank.

the beast’s strength was staggering. it twisted and writhed, hooves smashing against the frozen earth in a cacophony of defiance. even pinned between two predators, it refused to yield. its horns scraped against luhtar’s shoulder, forcing sólhárr to spring into action to draw its fury away.

he leapt from the side, his jaws clamping down on the ram's hind leg. the sharp taste of its blood filled his mouth, but the creature bucked violently, throwing its full weight into the fight. sólhárr held fast, his paws scrabbling for purchase as he felt the ram’s immense strength threaten to unseat him.

damned stubborn beast, he snarled, releasing his grip only to pivot and snap at its side, pushing it closer to luhtar’s waiting strike.

the glacial air was thick with the sound of their struggle—panting breaths, the scrape of hooves against ice, and the thudding heartbeat that sólhárr swore could be heard between them.

Luhtar gritted his teeth as the ram’s horn gouged against his shoulder. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but he refused to yield an inch. Instead, he set his paws wider, bracing himself against the slick surface beneath them. The beast thrashed, its power fierce and unrelenting. Every breath Luhtar drew tasted of blood and ice, his lungs straining as he fought to keep steady.

Sólhárr’s voice cut through the chaos, that single word—steady—anchoring Luhtar’s focus. He wouldn’t fail now. As the ram swung its weight toward Sólhárr’s attack, Luhtar seized his opening. He shifted his stance, angling his body low and surging forward in a controlled lunge. His jaws parted, teeth aiming for the ram’s exposed throat.

He felt the rapid thrum of its pulse, the hot rush of blood against his tongue. For a heartbeat, he held it there, victory assured, the ram’s struggles beginning to falter as its air cut short.

But the glacier’s ice was treacherous. As the ram jerked in one last desperate twist, Luhtar’s hind paw lost purchase on a slick patch of frost. He wrenched to keep his grip, but the sudden shift of weight sent him sliding. The ram’s horn caught him, a rough scrape turned to a brutal stab. Pain lanced through his side, fire against the winter chill.

He lost hold, dropping into the snow with a muffled grunt, his wound stinging, hot blood oozing beneath his thick pelt. For a moment, he hissed through gritted teeth, frustration and pain mingling. Yet he refused to relent.

“Hurry!”

solharr’s eye burned like a brand as the ram’s horn raked its savage arc, gouging deep into his right side. the sharp, tearing pain stole his breath for a moment, and the world tilted—snow glaring red as the sun shimmered across its frozen surface.

but the man of the north, forged by ice and violence, would not falter.

through the haze of agony, a feral snarl erupted from his chest, raw and primal. his tail raised high, a flag of defiance and dominance against the beast that dared mar him. blood slicked his vision, staining the white world crimson, but his focus remained razor-sharp.

sólhárr lunged with renewed fury, his power a thunderous force against the ram’s dwindling strength. he met the creature head-on, his jaws locking onto its thick neck with a crushing grip. the ram bellowed, its powerful body thrashing in a last act of rebellion, but the northern wolf held fast, his resolve unyielding.

with a savage wrench, he tore through sinew and flesh, warm blood spilling onto the snow in a grotesque, steaming pool. the ram’s struggles slowed, its life ebbing away with each weakening pulse. sólhárr growled low, refusing to release until the beast slumped fully beneath him.

blood dripped from his torn face and matted chest as he rose over their conquest, his breath ragged but victorious. the ram lay still, its black coat now a tapestry of red, its power finally quelled.

sólhárr staggered slightly but refused to yield his stance. his good eye shifted to luhtar, who stood wounded but resolute. it’s done, he rumbled, his voice rough, as if carved from the glaciers themselves. we take it back. no rest now.

He watched Sólhárr wrest final submission from the dying ram, the creature’s strength and will drained like a river running dry. Shaking, aching, exhausted legs pulled Luhtar back up from where he'd been temporarily felled, sides and chest heaving with each raucous inhale.

Sólhárr’s voice, ragged and rough, pulled Luhtar’s attention from the fallen beast. He met the hárkonungr’s gaze, half-blinded and drenched in gore. At the sight, Luhtar's intestines curled. Pain flared along his own shoulder, but he didn’t flinch. Instead of keeling over how his body begged him to, he dipped his head, blowing out a cold breath.

They could not linger—this kill was meant to be carried home, a gift claimed from the maw of winter itself.

He took a careful step closer, his legs threatening to buckle but holding all the same. They would bring this ram back, present it as proof of their resolve. Sólhárr’s injury might scar him forever, and Luhtar’s own wounds would ache in memory, but they had done it. Together.

His tail gave a faint, stiff wag—a muted expression of relief. He moved to help Sólhárr heave the black-furred carcass from the crimson snow, their breath mingling in the cold air, ragged and alive. They would carry their prize, and their pain, back to Forneskja.

It was done.