---

      
Powerful shoulders rolled in tandem with the howling thunder sparking through his veins.  Every instinct in his body spoke along those searing lines, urging coiled muscles to unleash their hostage hold and let him lunge forward.  A more feral creature would have listened.  Even in this form, Asmodeus Trahern retained civility, patience, and a broad understanding of when and where.  His eyes' stark blue contrasted with summer's green as he watched the lone buck yonder-ways march through the thicket and brambles.  The sweet scent of ripe berries flooded the air and the hunter downed a breath, savouring this moment of tranquillity before the inevitable chaos.

He moved with felinal precision - more panther than wolf - as he lunged forward and sunk claw and fang into the beast's hindquarters.  Lethal intention garnered through every growl bubbling from his throat until that iron tang drowned all else.  The triumphant hunter stood over the corpse, powerful tongue caressing his lips, ridding them of warm blood.

Calloused fingers worked the skinning knife along the bucks hide, liberating it from muscle before rolling it - carefully, I might add - and placing it on the back of the greying Camargue.  He’d hoist the carcass after, placing it on top of the hide and making sure both were equally secure before enduring the trek back towards town. 

These trips had been few and far between since the draft had been called into action.  Asmodeus’ clothing was typical of a mortal woodsman, much unlike the fineries he’d been used to back at the estate.  White shirt tucked away beneath a bloody, black jerkin and a pair of loose-fitting hide breeches.  Anything to make him appear like anything but the man whose portrait was sketched onto bounty posters. 

Hoof-fall began to slow as he pulled back on the reigns and used his legs to guide the alert mare towards the shadow ahead.  Silhouette of a man and horse, company not often found in this stretch of the wilds.  Despite his better judgement, Asmodeus approached.

“We don’t often find many people this far back in the forest.”  Though he appeared casual, his piercing stare watched for any hint of aggression.  One couldn’t be too cautious.  “The ones we do are often running from something.  Or someone.”  The mare beneath him flicked her tail to and fro.