---

For Ïkikta.

skill: hunter

Their was blood in the crisp tundra air. Something had happened.

Among the hundreds (thousands?? He couldn't math that high. Hes a wolf.) of the great herd, he had honed in on one near that had gotten injured. It limped among the outskirts, slash marks on his flank down it's leg creating ribbons of dangling flesh. A large cat, perhaps?

He did not think there would be much as far as a long run goes (which was honestly his best quality!), yet the caribou was a large doe in her prime, with antlers as large as any stag. She would die, surely, but not a death easily won.

Skill:
1/5

---

Snowdrift brings blood and wolf scent. Pungent, fresh, close by. The young caribou hunter had been restless in her exploration; there hadn't been much of a time where her paws were still. She's drawn away from a frozen-over pond, her movement swift as she loped up a hillside.

There, in the distance, she watches a man trail an injured cow. From the ridge line, she waits in time, her fur ruffling in cold winds. He is quick but the caribou is stubborn. With a soft chuff, she carries herself down the ridge, tail stiff as she weaves ever closer.

She keeps herself at his flank, a safe distance away. Watching and waiting for his next move, and calculating her own.

skill: hunter

It is with an instinct she comes. One which she cannot resist.

Already Yaalk'ali is circling the doe. It's both enraged and fearful. For the first time, a battle the doe does not think she will win. Escaping the wild cat had only meant falling to the clutches of another.

The tawny woman is easily spotted in the pale. She moves without an ounce of hesitation, readying herself for a time to strike. She moves like a caribou hunter - but who was Yaal to assume!

At the time, he is dancing around the doe. Quick slices made to her legs. A showing of his speed and agility, where he lacked in brute strength. With a few large warriors, like his half-sister, this hunt could have been a quicker one.

Yaalk'ali is one to savor his hunts. Enjoys to run them down. Enjoys to have them wear their strength until they had nothing left but to fall in defeat. He does not make his kills swift, as he. A sickly relishing to reveal a part of his true, selfish nature.

Skill:
2/5

---

The agile draw of tawny legs draws her closer, just in time for the man to begin his dance with the doe. She's an old creature; weary glass eyes, old scars. The injury she bares is fresh, and it is not from the man she now hunts with.

Blood paints the snow. A trail and swirl of ichor as the doe staggered. She would not last long, and many times had the opportunity to take her throat and end this dance revealed itself.

And still, the man did not act, instead choosing to nip at the doe's hocks. With a furrow of her brows, Ïkikta finds it odd. She could not understand the desire to tease prey, to prolong their panic.

She dove beneath a flurry of hooves as the doe reared. Slipping beneath its swollen belly, she grabs the doe's right rear hock, wishing for the creature to slip so the kill may be made.

skill: hunter

The doe raises, kicking out enraged! Kill me then, if you'd have me!

And it is the young huntress which strikes, diving under kicking limbs and to a back leg where she might yank it from under the doe, who falls hard and heavy with a loud bellow to the earth.

The game was over. The night shadow hunter would be left to dart fort, seizing the caribou by the throat, maybe with his partner to join, until the last breath has been taken.

Skill:
3/5

---

When the doe collapsed with a dense thud, a spray of snowdrift was sent to glitter. Ïkikta release the leg she'd barred her teeth into, keenly watching as the man pressed forth, his jaws parting to latch themselves onto the throat of their prey.

She is careful but precise as she joined him; her hold just a bit higher, her fang piercing below the doe's jaw. They worked together in a synergy she hadn't experienced in quite a while, as she often hunted alone now, after having dispersed from her band.

Large, soft paws dig into the snow-laden earth, holding her ground as the doe struggled still for a few moments longer. Another ragged breath, a wheeze — and then silence.

The doe stilled. The young huntress stepped aside, windswept fur ruffled with adrenaline, as she turned her curious eyes to the man.

He had moved like a caribou hunter, if only a little odd. This is why she greeted him in lanzadoii tongue and hoped he would understand;

You hunt well, stranger.

skill: hunter

The satisfaction of taking a life, it never seemed to get boring for the hunter. The spilling of blood and the quickened heartbeat, the thrum of pulse fading on his tongue.

Yaalk'ali lacked the satisfaction of ever beinf considered bloodhunter compared to his elders. Lacked the might of what many Lanzadoii men may hold. Even his eldest sister, Meleys. He was just lucky enough he was at least larger then the majority of women within the group now.

Yaalk'ali looks to her with sharp yellow eyes. Windswept furs carrying the scent of salt and spice. His head cocks to the side. She was Lanzadoii. Her moments in the hunt giving her away and proven now by her words. He would be hesitant coming onto her, lest she end up being made his wife one day. As naturally, for us Lanzadoii. He says with smooth tongue, laden with blood.

And so her hope had come true! Her eyes of hazel glittered with what might be joy, her smile broad. Elated to learn that she'd found more of her people, her tail flags in fast, joyous sways.

Forgotten is her hunger, instead replaced with her need to know of his band — if he had one. But Lanzadoii move as the caribou they follow; if there is one, there must be more!

It is great joy to hunt with Lanzadoii again! Ïkikta expressed. She pressed closer to the man, as if her sudden joy had made her forget the manners her mother had drilled into her as a calf. Searching, scenting, rejoicing.

Do you always hunt alone, friend?

A bright joy glitters in the eyes of the young woman, one that stirs a wanting in his gut and causes a lick of his bloodied mug. She draws in closer, causing a happy rumble of his own in the back of his throat. Unlike her, he has not forgotten his hunger, but it is not for the caribou...

He remains planted in place, body growing rigid and erect as she inspects him and too does his nose trail her body, neck stretching to do so as she moves all around him. I was not alone - I was with you. He directs back with playful smirk, forgetting the warning to himself he had thought moments before.

Where is your band, are they near? He questions, though whatever smell of other wolves on her coat must have been faint, as none quite stood out savor the scent of himself now, of course.

oh i adore him...

---

Heat reaches her cheeks at his curious exploration of her side; his nose is cold and frigid, and still she preens! As she is nothing if not a young woman easily swayed by roguish charm...

Her laughter is a gentle thing, no louder than snow-drift, but it is freely given as she rounded to meet the man face to face. With her tail flagging, she searches his face with open curiosity. It's the same curiosity she wishes not only know him, but other Lanzadoii that must storm across these plains.

You are a cheeky man, lone-hunter. She mused, eyes alight with mirth. When he inquired about her band, she shook her head. I hunt alone, too. My people are back along the coast, eastwards. I search for new Lanzadoii, now.

With a tilt to her head, her smile returned. Does lone-hunter have a name? She teased.