there was a great big moose, he liked to drink a lot of juice

Viðarr's eyebrows lifted slightly when the girl came into view. Celeste was here, but she was... raggedy. What had happened to her coat? Was she going to be okay with the elements? Would she get sunburned? It was the height of summer, after all... she could care for herself, he knew that. Still, it wouldn't sate Viðarr's worry. He tapped his chin against the girl's forehead, smiling softly. His sister said he had a habit of taking in strays, and this was no exception. He's fond of the girl. No words were needed between the two, for now at least. They were on a mission.

Hot on the trail of the young moose, Viðarr moved. He was happy to lead the way, confident that they could stay reasonably upwind of their prey, and Celeste's lack of coat would do well enough to hide any lingering scent. Yes, they were in good shape. It wasn't long before his gaze fixed on a doe with two young calves at her side. One looked more sickly than the other, and seemed to walk with a hobble. That would be the easier one to grab, the shadow figured. He poked gently at Celeste's side with his nose, gesturing at the slower-moving creature from where they stood, cloaked in the shadow of the peak itself.

With that as a warning, he thundered from his spot beneath the trees. Though he wasn't fast, he was powerful. It surged in his bones, in his muscles. He felt alive in moments like this. His emergence would likely send the moose into a state of confusion, and in the chaos, they could grab the calf and dispatch it quickly. Strong. Raw power, as a matter of fact. Brilliant.

"Viðarr"