The weight of the quivers on his back was a comforting one. He wanted to laugh at the light feeling of contentment it spread through body at the idea that he was
again! Hunting! For his clan! How long had it been? It had to be somewhere close to eighteen months at least.
No, Alarion didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to move like the streams, silent as a breeze.
The undergrowth below him gave little sound as he stepped lightly on it, head bent low as he moved with instinct. Soon, habit took over, forcing every thought in his head to dissipate.
He was nothing other than an animal sent to get its prey. Nothing except smooth steps, careful breathing, and eyes scanning for the tracks he knew to be there.
He was close now. Close enough that he could feel his body shivering with anticipation.
So very, very close… Reaching behind his back, he nocked an arrow slowly, enjoying the feeling of the fluid motion.
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