4/15/2025, 12:49 AM
This was one of the stranger parts of being in this new body. Or it had been, at first: That first flush of impulse, of instinct urging him to chase, to corner, to hunt for his next meal. Ideally, with comrade and kin by his side. It wasn't dissimilar to the feeling he'd gotten amongst the knights he'd trained with, only more animal and more potent. Takala met his gaze, a flash of excitement glittering in the ice. And then she was gone, cool, professional confidence wrapped in a pelt of lavender mist.
He was captivated for a moment, watching Takala weave, duck and snap at the sheep's heels with relentless devotion and unshakeable focus. He only wasted a second or two, before he blinked and recalled his own duty in this task. Francis slipped down from the ridge, his trot loose and slow as he closed some of the space between the sheep and himself. He didn't get close, not wanting to spook it into Takala's whirlwind of spurred-up snow and fangs. He instead skirted around for an outcropping thicketed in foliage, tucking his tall frame into the frosted cover and waiting for an opening.
He didn't have long to wait. The sheep finally found the outing from Takala's insistent pursuit that she had so carefully crafted. It broke away, a mad dash toward the thicket of browned leaves that framed the autumnal prince.
Takala's bark rang out clear as a bell, and Francis responded with a powerful lunge out of the shadows. The sheep flinched, attempting to course-correct away from Francis. He was a bit more agile than the creature, and certainly faster and stronger. He launched himself forward, the wintry cold entirely banished by the blood singing in his veins, his jaws snapping at the thick wool that protected the sheep's throat.