"Do not tell me what to do, princess." Dark lips curl into a smirk -- it was time. With a sharp flick of the tail, the woman leans into a trot, all the while she tests the air for the proximity of what she believes to be a small rogue herd of older elk.
The glazing of ice atop the freshly fallen snow doesn't aid her case; the soft crunch of her steps is no doubt enough to alert the herbivores of her approach from several kilometers away. Luckily, she has size on her side and the lightness of her paws is an asset, but they'll still have to be quick about it.
When she reaches the point where the elk's odor is so thick in the air it's nearly smothering, Leera pauses. She peers through the clearing of trees with eagle sharpness, her mouth fixed into a straight line. "There, my love," she breathes, blood beginning to pulse quicker in her ears. She can make out the light brown hides of the beasts just beyond the treeline. "Shall we begin?"
Leera is a mature character.
Force/violence is permitted within reason.
Plot with us here!
