CHULANE
I believe that dreams are sacred
Laughter abounds, the bond is full of it, as he relishes in the surprise he managed to give her, and the threat she shoots back at him. But she soon trots off, to hide, to give him something to hunt, to seek, to search for on this icy realm they have claimed as their playground. She is noisy, and he realises that it is a tactic, a way of overloading his senses so that he can't track her accurately. He counts, and when he gets to Ten!, he silences the bond again, pleased in a way when Hester silences it from her end too. He would always be pleased for his friends who showed improvement, and this game had turned into a way for both of them to hone their skills; he in hunting and stealth, her in fleeing and hiding.
Immediately he opened his eyes, turned and scouted the area for any trace of her direction. Hard hooves left a few minor marks in the ice, his keen vision picking them out, and his nostrils tasting the trail to confirm. He was filled with confidence, pushing forward on broad paws along her trail at speed, excited at the idea of solving this particular puzzle piece so easily.
It wasn't until he had gone several strides beyond the end of the trail that twisted and turned and overlapped itself numerous times that he realised what had happened.
He'd lost it.
A low growl rumbled through his chest, frustration flickering through his form, as hairs raised on end all along his nape and back and his tail swished violently behind him. 'Tricky,' it was a singular word, presented without the flavour of emotion to tint it, sent with the hope of presenting a reaction, a hint of her whereabouts.
He had to calm down, to refocus, to pick up the trail again, and hope that it might lead him to her this time, instead of round and round again. With a huff through his dark nostrils, he shut his eyes once more in an attempt to recentre himself, sensing the woolly scent all around him, but it was there too much - the cheeky sheep had done a good job of overloading the senses he relied on to hunt. 'Ah, you've got me this round. Where are yah?'
Immediately he opened his eyes, turned and scouted the area for any trace of her direction. Hard hooves left a few minor marks in the ice, his keen vision picking them out, and his nostrils tasting the trail to confirm. He was filled with confidence, pushing forward on broad paws along her trail at speed, excited at the idea of solving this particular puzzle piece so easily.
It wasn't until he had gone several strides beyond the end of the trail that twisted and turned and overlapped itself numerous times that he realised what had happened.
He'd lost it.
A low growl rumbled through his chest, frustration flickering through his form, as hairs raised on end all along his nape and back and his tail swished violently behind him. 'Tricky,' it was a singular word, presented without the flavour of emotion to tint it, sent with the hope of presenting a reaction, a hint of her whereabouts.
He had to calm down, to refocus, to pick up the trail again, and hope that it might lead him to her this time, instead of round and round again. With a huff through his dark nostrils, he shut his eyes once more in an attempt to recentre himself, sensing the woolly scent all around him, but it was there too much - the cheeky sheep had done a good job of overloading the senses he relied on to hunt. 'Ah, you've got me this round. Where are yah?'
Take my darkest fears and play them
