The oncoming legions of rumors, tales, and myths composed of LongNight drove the Reaper out into the fields, not intending to be a fool out amidst the midnight oils, desperate and yearning for the slimmest bit of food. The warrior had always been about preparation, either across war-torn arenas or the simplest aspects of life, because there’d been a time when he’d blundered, stumbled, and fumbled his way out, and it dared not repeat the anguishing moments.
His tools were simple; his own enchantments, capable of withering away life at his command (though slow, not as swift or keen as a cutlass straight through the heart), Alistair’s gifted hunting knife (either to be thrown or valued in close-combat, if he could sneak, if he could be a furtive piece of backdrop until the desired moment of death), and a bow he’d managed to tie together from some branches, rope, and fortitude. It wasn’t his desired realm of skill; he’d never been quite as gifted in archery as he’d been in swordplay, slashing, ripping, and tearing but it would suit his purpose of either slowing down his prey or ensuring a swift demise.
The warrior lingered along the threshold in the early pits of morning light, when the deer usually reared their heads from their nests, extended their long limbs, and journeyed out into glades, into havens, into sanctuaries, hoping to score whatever remained beneath deep pockets of snow. Despite his mass and bulk, Deimos had managed to maneuver in stealthy refrain, quiet, unassuming, a hushed contortion of savage predator and muted, reticent carnivore, towards tracks laden in the rime. It could’ve been from the evening before, and he was hoping if he followed their winding pathways, or if he meticulously combed the surrounding earth, he’d be able to find the desired wares.
{Hunting thread for DeepFrost! Feel free to join! <3}
