Iron Minds || Feast + Joining

[agathe.]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; color;"]For days on end, there had been something buzzing in her veins, an excess amount of energy that she could not shake no matter how hard she tried; the force itself something unquenchable, even as she trained each and every day and threw herself into her daily tasks. She supposed that it was just that innate need to kill rearing its ugly head again, desperate after being denied death so many times in a row. Agathe had tried to reason with herself, had tried to quietly explain that things were different now and that the need for petty executions and battle had been diminished, but it was an incessant force hardly keen on dissipating that easily. At least hunting took the edge off.

Temporarily anyways.

She hadn't seen anything larger than a buck in a little while, but she supposed that their gradual descent into winter would be cause enough for big game to truly start making an appearance. Their lush fields were probably some sort of moose and elk buffet if she thought about it, almost delighting in the anticipation that came with that slow blossoming realization that she would be eating relatively good for the next few months. And such seemed to start now with that undeniable scent of moose on the breeze.

Agathe had abandoned her post to head quietly in its direction, somehow oblivious to the scent of another- the scent of someone who would take down the massive creature before she arrived. She was too busy trying to figure out how she would bring it back to the Observatory, the strength she'd need to dredge up not entirely there. She was still healing after all. But as she paused to drop into a crouch, all she could detect was the overwhelming scent of blood and finally, finally, that of a stranger. Had someone taken her kill? To what end?

Huffing, Agathe made herself visible, red coat a stark contrast from her white and black pelt. She'd perk rounded ears and listen to Atticus' words carefully, pursing lips as she looked between him and what should have been her next meal. "And what might your name be? Where do you come from?" The witchling inquired quietly, loosing a breath. Did she thank him for this meal? Or silently pout that it had not been her that could relish in its success? She hadn't quite decided yet.

"I'm Agathe."