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Ice crystals glittered in the air as Sverke gave chase, the faintest flurries of remaining snow this far north flung into the air dramatically as he lunged after his quarry.
It was sinewy, fast and small. He thought nothing more about what it was beyond that. The boy could feel the earth rattle beneath his paws, could feel his muscles strain and lungs ache. These were the sensations that rose to the forefront of his mind. He'd been born for this in a life before, and this body still remembered the echoes of that eternal hunt. It mattered not what lay before his teeth - be it shadow or sun-chariot.
Nothing but him could run forever.
He collided with the skin-and-bone frame of his prey with an over-excited snarl that came out more like a thunderous bark. They rolled apart through the bushes, snow speckling his already star-studded fur. This close brush finally gave Sverke a little more information - this wasn't a melanistic fawn or a cross fox, but a young and wiry wolf. The prince rolled to his paws with relative grace, standing in the moonlit little clearing he'd tumbled into with his flanks heaving and a cocky grin plastered across his parted jaws. He expected...something, but wasn't sure what - in any case, his curiosity was piqued, and he tilted his head to get a better look at his catch.
The wolf flinched away, trying to bleed back into the shadows; his hackles lifted in warning. The line between play and prey blurred - he watched her sharp edges start to blend into the bushes, toward escape, and the boy's fangs glinted as he struck forward to try to grab her with a disgruntled huff.
