something about TROPHY WHITETALS TM

The sound of his own footsteps against spongy ground. Víðarr doesn't know what's brought him back here, only that it's the last place he was able to spend time with her. There was so much on his mind, and so much that he had to process. To think about. To wonder and to wait for. In a bit of a holding pattern, the shadow figured he may as well make the best of it. His head high, scenting the air for... for something. Let's be real-- Víðarr is pretty much always hungry. A man his size, it only seemed like he should be. Lunch. He was looking for lunch.

Slipping into the cool, breezy willows, he knows there's something worth eating here. Víðarr picks up the scent of the white tailed deer, taking a moment to trace it as it swirls and plays among the long, draping foliage. They're shy creatures, and it will be all he can do not to scare them off. Head hanging low as he stalks through the trees, gaze keen and bright. He'd need to pin down the deer's exact location before engaging in a deadly game of cat and mouse.

"Víðarr"