What up, Shawshank

Moonlight struggled to break through the cloak of grey clouds that stretched across the frigid autumn sky. The cold offered the brute a bit of respite from the rising heat of his own body. Powerful, scarred limbs pushed him onward, nostrils flaring at the scent of his quarry, a scent that bothered him in its familiarity. Sigmarr's icy eyes closed for just a second then opened in honed intensity. No, he could not dwell on things like deja v?. He was on the hunt. His trainer and handler, the warrioress Aernd?s was right behind him, a familiar grin of lustful cruelty marking her maw. She reveled in violence and it was up to him to make sure she didn't get carried away with the target. Punishment would be dealt out by the Tsanka, not them. Their job was to deliver. Aernd?s made a gesture with her head and Sigmarr nodded. They were to split up. He'd trained so long with the rust-kissed woman he could practically predict her thoughts. They would split up circle in on the target.


Sigmarr slowed, nose working to trace the scent. It was scattered but reasonably strong. The hunting duo were close to their quarry? so close. Snow was falling gently on the terra and all the sound seemed to muffle creating an eerie silence. Sigmarr panted lightly but he knew better than to rest for too long. Aernd?s would throttle him viciously if he lost sight of their goal. His pale eyes glanced down briefly at the unusual scar on his left shoulder. The scar of his owning. He belonged to the Desanka? to Aerndis his mistress and this mark was proof of that. He flinched slightly at the memory but quickly buried it. No, he had no past any more.


Fog blanketed thick across the land but he pushed forward as he finally picked up the scent. They were closing in. He let out a howl to Aernd?s as his fangs bared a sadistic grin spreading across his face. Ears pinned, eyes narrowed and hackles rose as his weight shifted evenly over his limbs, coiling tightly before he sprang at the target. Gotcha?


Fangs sought to latch into the direct center of the left side of the fae's neck, both his front limbs coming up to wrap around the base of her neck right in front of the shoulder blades. Sigmarr sought to use his weight to drag her down and pin her on the ground. This game was over.