ett öppet sår

Duel-toned eyes watch the shadow’s face as she offers options, a smile breaking over her dark lips as he suggests she herds. Truthfully, Tove loves to run, the thrill of breaking the young one off from the rest of herd while trying to avoid hooves and any danger that the adults might throw at her… it made Tove feel alive. Happily, she whispers, “Perfect. I will wait until you are in position. Oh and Viðarr? Be careful.” Giving the shadow a small, tense smile, Tove turns her eyes back to the grazing ox. Slowly, carefully, the nebula clad wolf sneaks closer to the target, cautious not to give her position away.

When she is as close as she dares to get, Tove looks to the spot that Viðarr had pointed out before, locking eyes with the shadow. With a short dip of her head as warning, the nebula woman bursts forth from the grass, growling and snapping, making as much noise as she possible can. The oxen move, a flurry of hooves and bodies. Tove works to sperate the young ox from the rest and drive him toward the killing spot.


"Tove Baade"