The leaves fell, crimson autumn colored like the sunset, crimson like his mane gently dancing in the wind, crimson like the blood seeping from his mouth, and crimson like the dying of the light reflecting on his eyes. There was fiery passion in his eyes, but also restraint. Power in the way he walked, yet he also moved with poise. Strength in the breath escaping his lungs, forming clouds of warm breath visible in the cooling temperatures, yet it was rhythmic and controlled. This was a hunt that Magnus has never witnessed before. The Horned Throng gave nothing of the sorts, they were wild, barbaric even. The hunt to them was a violent orchestra of claws and fangs and horns. Splatters of blood sprayed onto the fresh snow giving eagle wings to a creature now drawing its last breaths.
This was different. He stalked and he waited. There was no grand display of feats and muscle, no great challenge to the legendary hunters of old. He stood and he waited, waiting for the right moment, waiting for the right gust of wind, the right birds to sing, and the right move to make. It was over in an instant. No struggle, no cry, no shouting, gnarling and running. His tusks bore deep into the creature's neck, a snap, and death was at hand. There was no great gore, no litter and no sign. The creature had never even known he was there, and no other creature would ever find out after. The kill was controlled, clean, precise. Such control was something Magnus had never witnessed.
When the time came for them to prowl together, there were no words exchanged between them, for the hunt spoke for itself. Othmar led the way, with great speed, yet respecting all around him. He did not trample, he did not break. Every hoof found a place to land where it would not disturb, where it would not leave tracks. He respected what was ahead of him, but even what was behind him. Magnus followed, and though he did not know the path, ran it as if he had many times before. Othmar chose the right ledges, the right turns and the right branches to duck under, knowing they would all suit Magnus, avoiding any that would cause him to lose momentum. They were separate and apart, but in the hunt, as one. Their hooves struck the ground as one, and their hearts beat for the same hunt.
They fell upon the ursine most unexpected by it, the creature turning to face its adversaries. Othmar was poised, ready, in control of himself and the situation, and yet, he relented. When the moment came, the crowning act of their hunt, Othmar could have attempted to assert his superiority. Any Url would have, the crown of the hunt gave great honor and pride. At first Magnus thought of it as cowardice and lesser Ailor influence. Yet there was no fear in Othmar's eyes, no weakness in his body, and no doubt or hesitation in his act. He bowed the honor down to Magnus, baring all respects, and offering the kill yet retaining his pride.
Magnus bore his horns against the beast's side when it turned to face Othmar who had circled around. He lifted his head against the creature, sprays of blood flushing into his face as the taste of iron flooded his mouth. His hands reached for the creature's head, it's claws trying to reach, though not in time before he snapped its neck.
The thrill was gone. The hunt was over. And as they looked at each other, so was the emptiness and that feeling they had hated for nearly thirty years.
They silently returned to the city, each turning their own way with minds heavy in thought. No words had been uttered this night by either of them, but tales of a lifetime raged in the minds of both.
This was different. He stalked and he waited. There was no grand display of feats and muscle, no great challenge to the legendary hunters of old. He stood and he waited, waiting for the right moment, waiting for the right gust of wind, the right birds to sing, and the right move to make. It was over in an instant. No struggle, no cry, no shouting, gnarling and running. His tusks bore deep into the creature's neck, a snap, and death was at hand. There was no great gore, no litter and no sign. The creature had never even known he was there, and no other creature would ever find out after. The kill was controlled, clean, precise. Such control was something Magnus had never witnessed.
When the time came for them to prowl together, there were no words exchanged between them, for the hunt spoke for itself. Othmar led the way, with great speed, yet respecting all around him. He did not trample, he did not break. Every hoof found a place to land where it would not disturb, where it would not leave tracks. He respected what was ahead of him, but even what was behind him. Magnus followed, and though he did not know the path, ran it as if he had many times before. Othmar chose the right ledges, the right turns and the right branches to duck under, knowing they would all suit Magnus, avoiding any that would cause him to lose momentum. They were separate and apart, but in the hunt, as one. Their hooves struck the ground as one, and their hearts beat for the same hunt.
They fell upon the ursine most unexpected by it, the creature turning to face its adversaries. Othmar was poised, ready, in control of himself and the situation, and yet, he relented. When the moment came, the crowning act of their hunt, Othmar could have attempted to assert his superiority. Any Url would have, the crown of the hunt gave great honor and pride. At first Magnus thought of it as cowardice and lesser Ailor influence. Yet there was no fear in Othmar's eyes, no weakness in his body, and no doubt or hesitation in his act. He bowed the honor down to Magnus, baring all respects, and offering the kill yet retaining his pride.
Magnus bore his horns against the beast's side when it turned to face Othmar who had circled around. He lifted his head against the creature, sprays of blood flushing into his face as the taste of iron flooded his mouth. His hands reached for the creature's head, it's claws trying to reach, though not in time before he snapped its neck.
The thrill was gone. The hunt was over. And as they looked at each other, so was the emptiness and that feeling they had hated for nearly thirty years.
They silently returned to the city, each turning their own way with minds heavy in thought. No words had been uttered this night by either of them, but tales of a lifetime raged in the minds of both.
