(Not) Beef: It's What's For Dinner

Víðarr

Diplomacy, leadership, all the other things-- they'd come in time. They took practice. The things that were true weaknesses or that someone had a harder time learning? Well, those were things that could be outsourced. Viðarr knew all about that. He had sisters to do the diplomacy, the talking things for him. All he needed to do was fight and hunt, and keep them safe. Though he wouldn't admit it, maybe that had hurt his band too. Still, these things aren't personal failings. They aren't weakness. It's a learning curve, and nothing real would be lost in that curve anyway. Viðarr knew as much.

There was nowhere for the cow to run. Nowhere for her to hide. The pair moved in harmony, closing in from both sides. The shadow caught up, heart pounding in his chest. With as much force as he could muster, gathering all the strength in his back legs and pushing off, he sprung at her back legs. He'd topple the prey to his side, and out in front-- couldn't squish Celeste. The cow wobbled on her feet for a long moment before finally going down, fighting and flailing the entire way.

By the time the shadow makes it to the cow's shoulder and exposed throat, curiously, she's stopped moving. The creature's neck is at an odd angle. Having broken on true impact with the ground, it's spared of further misery. Panting, doing his best to catch his breath, he takes stock of the food source. This would make for a fine meal for the band, after all.

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(Not) Beef: It's What's For Dinner

Bun

Víðarr