Hakon | Clan Many Tusks

Black eyes follow his quarry as Hakon moves silently in the woods near his clan, movements deft despite his hulking size. His prey seems unaware of his presence. That's good.

Easier to assess intentions. Easier to kill if needed.

He pauses as they look around briefly. His fingers tighten around his bow.

Too close to the village.

He draws an arrow, aiming for the meat of their shoulder... and then his aim drifts upwards for reasons unknown to him, as if some deep part of himself thought destroyed in the horror of his upbringing takes hold to avoid causing injury. He fires, and instead of soaring through the stranger's shoulder, it pins their clothing to a tree instead, merely nicking them.

A moment later, his body follows to press against theirs, ensuring no escape as thick fingers find their chin and force their head back to meet his narrow-eyed gaze. His voice, quiet and growling, rasps,

"Careful where you tread, dark heart, lest you find yourself injured further."