[ She does not hunt the Hart. The whispers of her religion from a time long before now still makes him too sacred for her, not wanting to snap at his heels and take him down. She is certain he has the power to overrun her curse and save her but the respect she holds for his stature, his place, tied with the Shuck, makes her shy and uncertain - her focus is best given to other things and she embraces that without hesitation.
For now, she is a dark shadow, sneaking through the undergrowth and the bushes. Lauralae has had years to adjust to this world, to her travels, a set of decades to adjust to her own isolation, and she revels in it, in the scents that overwhelm her and each brush of noise that leads her to more food. She snaps at the throats of hares and rabbits alike, turning through the trees and eating them raw, tearing flesh from bone until she is content and satisfied.
When she slips out of a clearing she does it with contentment, recognising the scent ahead and knowing it for a friend of Clarke. She does no more than move, careful steps, hackles low and her head tilted, waiting for him to show himself, wondering why he has come and why he walks alone. The Hart Hunt continues, of course, but there is more to be had and more to be seen; Larualae would see it all, claim it all, and rip shards from chests to do it if she was capable.
Instead, she settles, flopping in the leaves and watching him, fur drenched in blood and eyes dark. ]
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For now, she is a dark shadow, sneaking through the undergrowth and the bushes. Lauralae has had years to adjust to this world, to her travels, a set of decades to adjust to her own isolation, and she revels in it, in the scents that overwhelm her and each brush of noise that leads her to more food. She snaps at the throats of hares and rabbits alike, turning through the trees and eating them raw, tearing flesh from bone until she is content and satisfied.
When she slips out of a clearing she does it with contentment, recognising the scent ahead and knowing it for a friend of Clarke. She does no more than move, careful steps, hackles low and her head tilted, waiting for him to show himself, wondering why he has come and why he walks alone. The Hart Hunt continues, of course, but there is more to be had and more to be seen; Larualae would see it all, claim it all, and rip shards from chests to do it if she was capable.
Instead, she settles, flopping in the leaves and watching him, fur drenched in blood and eyes dark. ]