Good ol fashioned stress relief

Alastor had indeed not been in the best headspace lately after the implosion of his relationship with Relm. He still didn’t know entirely what had soured to make everything go wrong so suddenly, but the pink bitch refused to level with him or work with him to try to salvage what they shared. Her contentment to let these bridges burn had hurt, had made Alastor feel like all the time, effort, and struggle he’d poured into their relationship had been for nothing. That he would never be enough. The dark-coated wolf never wanted to let himself feel that way again, so he’d cut Relm off cold turkey. But like any junkie going clean in an instant, the pain of withdrawal was a tough beast to contend with.

Thankfully, his magnificent wife was there to pick him right back up and support him, as she always did and always had done. Manea really was the greatest thing that could have ever happened to him; he don’t know how he had ever lost sight of that. Even when he was sulking about the den, she was trying to comfort him and cheer him up. She had come to him and instructed (well, more like commanded) him to join her for a hunt on mainland Boreas, and who was the violence-inclined brute to deny his mate her wish? So the two wolves set out from their home for a little romantic getaway, crossing the snowy lands of winter Boreas until they arrived at the snow-dusted plains of Buffalo Knolls. Alastor smelled the big oafs before he saw them. The stench of the giant prey animals hung heavy in the crisp air, luring the wolves in. As they crested the hill, the herd came into view, grazing on the dry grasses unaware of the danger that looked nearby.

Alastor studied the herd with Manea at his side, his predatory instincts rousing and coming to life while obsidian eyes watched their movements and picked through the group of buffalo. There were plenty of adult bulls and cows, all healthy and lean, with a few plump calves milling about between their parents. A little thrill of delight rippled up Alastor’s spine when he felt Manea’s fangs nip at his jaw, the dire brute turning a salacious grin over to his mate. "Keep doing that and I’ll be thinking of hunting some more dangerous prey, my violet fae," he rumbled in response, his flowing tail flicking out to give a playful smack to her thigh. Ah, but they had a task at hand first… Ordinarily, Alastor would have picked one of the weaker calves to target, but right now his psyche couldn’t stomach the thought of killing a baby, so he instead pointed out one of the cows grazing at the edge of the herd.

"Her." Motioning with a flick of his head, the ebony brute led his violet fae down the embankment of the hill they were on, using the rolling terrain as concealment to creep closer to the herd. With their vibrant fur, hiding amongst the white snow would not be easy. He slowly led the way up until they were as close as they could get to the herd before they would need to charge. Giving one more look to Manea to make sure she was ready, Alastor tensed his body, thick cords of muscle rippling in eager anticipation beneath his long fur.

"Manea & Alastor Mendacium"