MrMopp
Two Thousand Club
Wilder28
, it’s here!
It was a hot, late spring afternoon on the foothills of Brackenwood valley. Cottonwood fluff drifted through the gold and green dappled forest and the last of the blossoms were leaving the deciduous trees that mingled with the pines.
Trina Lycus walked through the woods, clad in her short sleeved tunic with her brown hair tied back, her rebound bow in hand and a quiver on her back. She was on the trail of a buck, a big fella from the hoof prints, who‘d decided last night that wandering into a shifters yard and trampling her tomato garden was a GREAT idea (well ok, they were her moms tomatoes, but the verdict stood!: Penalty for stupid was dinner. Whack the gavel. Case dismissed). Admittedly, tracking the asshole would have been easier in a form with a bigger nose, but it was already muggy enough without fur, thanks, and besides that, she was a hunter by trade and hides with fang marks in em made for lousy (and suspicious) merchandise, and then besides THAT... well, she just wasn’t in the mood. A shifters preference for form swings, y’know, and today definitely felt like a two-legg’n day to her.
Her boots squishing through mud from the prior nights rain, Trina picked her way through the sallal bushes and ferns, examining the nibbles in the leaves and keeping an eye out for any tell-tale movement. She knew she was getting close from some fresh skat she’d found earlier and was about to put her ear to the ground to listen for hooves when she saw a flick of something white, and when her head shot up, So did her eyebrows. In a clearing some 20 yards off, a whole heard of deer was grazing, oblivious to her presence. This was unexpectedly awesome hunting! It kinda sucked that her brothers weren’t around to help anymore, they’d have brought in quite the load here. But then the prize wandered into her line of sight and her jaw dropped. It was the buck she’d been tracking, she was sure. And he was a beautiful, big-ass, snow white albino, almost the size of an elk, looking like a cloud floating amongst the doe’s.
Trina twisted her lip uncomfortably. Now that she saw the guy, she was suddenly feeling reeeeeally conflicted about shooting him. Albino stags were rare enough, as is, and finding one that big who’d survived long enough to lead his own harem kind of inspired a- I dunno, - a hunters reverence in Trina. Sorta felt like she was meeting a great king of the woods instead of a 500 lbs bundle of meat and pigment deficiency. BUT ultimately, she knew his pelt was going sell for quite a lot of money and gods knew how expensive grandpa Roz’s medicine was, so needs must. Sorry, your highness.
Slinking low through the bushes and behind the cover of rocks and logs, the huntress presses forward, quietly zigzagging toward her quarry from one hiding spot to the next. She settled on a spot behind a cluster of birch saplings, just on the edge of the clearing. She knocked an arrow, drew it back, took aim at the stags flank....
It was a hot, late spring afternoon on the foothills of Brackenwood valley. Cottonwood fluff drifted through the gold and green dappled forest and the last of the blossoms were leaving the deciduous trees that mingled with the pines.
Trina Lycus walked through the woods, clad in her short sleeved tunic with her brown hair tied back, her rebound bow in hand and a quiver on her back. She was on the trail of a buck, a big fella from the hoof prints, who‘d decided last night that wandering into a shifters yard and trampling her tomato garden was a GREAT idea (well ok, they were her moms tomatoes, but the verdict stood!: Penalty for stupid was dinner. Whack the gavel. Case dismissed). Admittedly, tracking the asshole would have been easier in a form with a bigger nose, but it was already muggy enough without fur, thanks, and besides that, she was a hunter by trade and hides with fang marks in em made for lousy (and suspicious) merchandise, and then besides THAT... well, she just wasn’t in the mood. A shifters preference for form swings, y’know, and today definitely felt like a two-legg’n day to her.
Her boots squishing through mud from the prior nights rain, Trina picked her way through the sallal bushes and ferns, examining the nibbles in the leaves and keeping an eye out for any tell-tale movement. She knew she was getting close from some fresh skat she’d found earlier and was about to put her ear to the ground to listen for hooves when she saw a flick of something white, and when her head shot up, So did her eyebrows. In a clearing some 20 yards off, a whole heard of deer was grazing, oblivious to her presence. This was unexpectedly awesome hunting! It kinda sucked that her brothers weren’t around to help anymore, they’d have brought in quite the load here. But then the prize wandered into her line of sight and her jaw dropped. It was the buck she’d been tracking, she was sure. And he was a beautiful, big-ass, snow white albino, almost the size of an elk, looking like a cloud floating amongst the doe’s.
Trina twisted her lip uncomfortably. Now that she saw the guy, she was suddenly feeling reeeeeally conflicted about shooting him. Albino stags were rare enough, as is, and finding one that big who’d survived long enough to lead his own harem kind of inspired a- I dunno, - a hunters reverence in Trina. Sorta felt like she was meeting a great king of the woods instead of a 500 lbs bundle of meat and pigment deficiency. BUT ultimately, she knew his pelt was going sell for quite a lot of money and gods knew how expensive grandpa Roz’s medicine was, so needs must. Sorry, your highness.
Slinking low through the bushes and behind the cover of rocks and logs, the huntress presses forward, quietly zigzagging toward her quarry from one hiding spot to the next. She settled on a spot behind a cluster of birch saplings, just on the edge of the clearing. She knocked an arrow, drew it back, took aim at the stags flank....
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