You Better Get Up Out The Way

Aresenn observed the scene unfolding with detached curiosity. Once the hunt was on, nothing else mattered but the kill. He followed Elysia's lead and dashed forward, his form a blur against the barren landscape. A primal roar escaped his lips as he lunged at a nearby coyote, claws ripping into their soft flesh. The scent of blood filled his nostrils and fueled his drive, painting pictures of victory in his mind. The coyote's cries were nothing but a plaintive serenade to his battle-hungry senses. Aresenn reveled in the fear that seeped from their every pore, the sheer terror in their eyes as they realized their fate. He was a predator, they were his prey and this was nature’s law, as cold and unyielding as the northern ocean lapping at the edge of their territory.

The taste of coppery blood on his tongue was invigorating, a gruesome testament to his prowess. He could hear the symphony of battle all around him - the snarls and growls of his packmates, the screams of the falling coyotes, the cracking of bones. It was the echoing call of victory, a blood-soaked melody that soothed his savage instincts. The world had narrowed down to this single moment, this perfect communion. And of course they were making quick work of the pack.

Aresenn wrenched his jaws out from the body of the fallen coyote, ignoring the warmth that seeped into the fur of his chin, neck, and chest. He looked around, eyes flicking from one skirmish to another with cold detachment. Who would be next?

"Aresenn Praetor"