Zaphkiel could always rely on his own skills. Just as any typical wolf though getting large prey by himself was next to impossible without extremely fortuitous circumstances so he normally settled on the most abundant of game: hare. Anything else was a delicious side dish, a distraction to the normal same gamey taste, and the plumper and animal was the better. Who didn't like the juicy fat dripping between their jaws? To waste this chance with his delectable partner would be folly no matter how much he wished to feel her wrath turn upon him. It would excite him in the way the cougar's screams had excited him, feeling that rush of adrenaline pump through his veins and consume him. He is not like the strange wolves of Molodian, many of whom thrive on pain. He merely craves the rush that such a thing gives - not the pain, but the life or death situation. The move it or lose it situation in which each step counted, each breath was measured. Unfortunately his parents were not of the same idea that he should be so brash. Didn't take a scientist to know that they were a bit distraught at his returning with a scar - Azrael had thrown a damn conniption and Andromeda had chastised him, however gently, about getting help before such fights. Bah, who needed help? Except in this situation, of course.
It is almost as if he can feel her eyes on him while he prepares. That in itself creates a slow burn within him for Zaphkiel is ever the preener. Astrid, minus her grouchy attitude at first, was a beautiful wolf. He would be stupid to not notice this and even more so if he did not show off his majestic body. After all, she was hunting with him and would get a glimpse of his prowess. She would be so amazed by him that she would follow him anywhere. Zaphkiel shakes these thoughts from his mind for they had carried away into a whole new storyline not even crafted. His mind is always on the next step but there are so many paths that diverge and converge - it is all up to Astrid anyways how this game will play out. No amount of star-seeing, as Zaphkiel thought of it, could fix that.
And then he is a blur and he is beneath the deer and the deer has fallen. In record time he is behind Astrid; she is quick, darting to the head of the beast and pouncing upon it like the epic killing machine that she is. He hadn't doubted her skills one bit and it thrills him to see her with the deer clenched between her jaws and her wide paws pressing into it, claiming it. Astrid is a Queen in her own right in this moment; glorious, beautiful! The sun peers down through the trees and twinkles on the bubbling stream but it also seems to halo around her body as he watches. Not that ANY of these thoughts might be a bit exaggerated with his storyteller's mind.
"Ah, Lady Astrid, have I said how glorious you are? You are so beautiful there with the blood upon your lips and you look as sated as the does after a good mating," he suddenly speaks, his voice cocky and full of prose and he bares a cheeky smile at her as he comes closer. Oh he sees the way her eyes flash as she fights the instinct to tell him to back off. It has his grin pulling wider, his ears facing backwards and his body pressing on, waiting to see if she snaps, thrilled at watching the procession of her mood changes.
A chuckle falls from his lips as he nears the does swollen stomach, licking his own lips in anticipation. "Darling, you are the best I have ever met," he replies even if it is a lie - but heck, maybe it isn't, he wasn't telling. He pauses by the stomach, eying her now, enjoying this moment. "To the victor goes the spoils. First pick is on you, My Lady Astrid," he jests, mocking bowing to her and awaiting her choice.