As much as I like running around, I like hunting better. The feeling of taking down prey is so much that words can't describe it. Then again, sometimes I just jump on things to take them down.
Poachers, that's what Colin called them when he first took care of me back to the sept. Poachers. A word that makes me think of the first time I smelled gunpowder. First time I saw a pack mate die without anyone or anything near. I hate them. Every last one. I will hunt them. Thankfully Russ understands. I laugh now but I was trying to help one be good prey for Russ. His arrow was perfect to hobble the poacher. Like all poachers they are weak prey.
The same I think can be said of the two leggers. They dislike different kind of poachers. The kind that target women. If poaching something that at least have tooth and claw, poaching something doesn't makes me think of gunpowder again. The desire to chase them down and rip them to pieces even more. Jeremy and Kurt let them live, so very lucky.