Obtuse, Guava Juice, Rubber Goose, Chocolate Moose

Aristaios crouched beside the others, his mismatched eyes tracing the hoof prints etched in the snow. The compacted drifts revealed their quarry's passage, its blurred edges marking time — a hunters gaze would catch these details easily. The wind brought the scent of pine and undergrowth, masking and yet still hinting at the moose's trail.

He noted the moose's swift pace, its path veering south towards a pine thicket, a brief stop indicating a moment of rest. Who knew why. Anticipation surged through him, his breath forming transient clouds in the icy air. They were closing in, the thrill of the hunt intensifying. This group was good, a moose wouldn’t be an issue. The chase promised excitement, and Aristaios felt ready for the pursuit.


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