Azure eyes are upon the direction of sound before Andrei need utter a word of his observation, both of them snared by the obvious omen of what lay ahead. It is a telltale, most obvious noise; one too finicky and too light to be a person, one too careful and cautious to be a child. The forest reveals unto them nothing else, its source eluding them behind rows of trees and shrubberyâ but it is there, surely, and they have not lost sight of it yet.
Slowly, Eirâs grip upon her bow tightens. A quiver rests lightly upon her back, arrows plumed and ready. That they had already felled one of the forestâs creatures is a thought that does not soothe her, but she understands its necessity. Berries and nuts, among other yields of nature could only sustain them so muchâ especially with little to aid their endeavours. Better that they should hunt one beast large enough to feed them all, than sever the lives of far more, smaller others. The sovereignâs empty hand twitches, yearning for the familiar weight of her blade.
There would be the promise of mercy, she assures herself. Sharp ears catch another bristle, the nearly inaudible scratch of hooves grazing against the underbush. Without so much as a thought, her hand raises to prime an arrow betwixt gloved digits, bowstring drawn. Ymirâs heir inches closer, verdant green blooming beneath as to mask her every step. Their minds are nearly matchedâ both of a deliberate act. One could almost attune herself to the otherâs heartbeatâŚ
The creature raises its head, ears twitching. With a sharp breath, Eir finds it is a doe that stares at her, eyes drawn to the arrowâs metal end. The archer flicks her aim to the left within a split momentâ the arrow flies strong and swift.
roll 1d5 = 1. game; deer.
roll d10+2 = 6. success !
A cry rings out as metal pierces the creatureâs hide, sinking deep into its calf. The doe staggers, balance thrownâ it stumbles in a feeble attempt to escape the hunter. Eirâs expression turns grave, growing serious; time continued to grow short, an urgency ever needed. Within moments, she is steps behind the doe, bow all but abandoned in her rush. Death had no need of it. Lyfjaberg shines in her right hand, sharp and trueâ and meets with flesh, severing the head cleanly from its neck.
The doe crumples to the ground in a lifeless heap, taken by death not a moment too late.
Andrei and Eir both act quickly, not a single moment or prey wasted between them. Est knows itâs not really the time for it, but she stops to stare in awe for a momentâbut only a moment, and nothing more. The commotion caused by the doeâs cry and fall startles the other rabbits hiding amidst the bushes, scattering them every which way.
Her spearpoint is quick to swing toward the nearest movement, sweeping low enough in the grass that most of those who flee leap over it before scampering away. One, however, already slow and limping behind the rest trips on the blade, tumbling into the dirt with a low whimper. It rights itself quickly, hopping after the rest, but Est drops her lance entirely and lunges to catch it before it goes far, hitting the ground with a wince, but the rabbit safely in her hands.
...Well, its safety right about now was relative.
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry,â she chants quietly as she readjusts her grip on the squirming animal to snap its neck. It is in this moment that Est decides that should she have another hunting trip tasked to her, she may request a reassignment. She might be able to justify the battlefield to her heart, but she doesnât know if she can justify the hunt.
âSorry, little guy,â she whispers when it finally goes still in her hands. Est stands with a grimace, brushing the dirt from her clothes with her free hand before she goes to retrieve her lance. âHow much more do you suppose we need?â she asks in the silence that follows.
