Small indentations litter the ground where hooves from many unicorns have left obscure tracks. Coris is not interested in such patterns however, but they certainly make it difficult to find the one he wants. It should be a bit smoother, rounder, fatter even; five toes around a large pad. There might even be scratches down tree trunks, or dark stains of urine. With his nose nearly pressed to the ground, staring so intently at the designs in the dirt, Coris nearly inhales the heap of scat just ahead. He jerks his head back as the pungent aroma overwhelms his senses, causing him to reel for a moment as disgust writes itself into his features. Predators leave such an awful stink...

A falcon's call splits the otherwise silent woods drawing his attention skyward. A grin splits the bearded face and Coris leaps into a steady lope, limbs churning the forest floor as he races onwards. That was definitely the cat's leavings, and now Venati has spotted the animal. It's close and Coris doesn't need the paw prints to tell him where to go. He's running, fleet and sure and ready. It's been several days following this trail and Coris will not let it slip from his toes again - tonight, he hunts!

Another cry from the falcon alerts Coris that he's in the vicinity. He slows his pace, cautious now though the blood surges in his ears like pounding drums that urge him to run, run, run! Wings scour the skyway above, Venati remaining distant from this meeting. Where are you... Coris wonders silently, head lowering his horn to a deadly angle while his steps move carefully in the brush. He can feel the weight of the cat's eyes on him, heavy and sullen. The cat doesn't appreciate being stalked, it thinks itself the apex of these woods.

A yowl resounds terribly from the shadows of a rock just as the falcon shrieks. The cry is enough to make the feline hesitate, unaccustomed to being harried from above, but Coris has no such issue. He charges fluidly, bellowing out his own admonishment. They meet, horn and teeth, hoof and claw. The cat is a strong one; a wise female, likely hardened by years of mothership. She dodges nicely and catches Coris with an expert swipe, leaving four bright red gashes along his right shoulder, but the paw gets tangled in his gear. The cat snarls, twisting madly to break free, but Coris is upon her and with a single, neat arch of his head her throat is punctured and split up to her jaw. The blood drains like a flood and her body falls limp, hung still on his horn - he wouldn't want to get her pretty fur stained in her fluids after all.

A whistle of success calls from the skies and Venati surges down on sharp wings, settling calmly on the stallion's leather back. The dusky stud prances on the spot, high with the excitement of the kill and searing lacerations. Together they move back through the woods, slipping into a stream to wash the grime of travel from their bodies. Venati preens on the shore as Coris soaks the body, horn tracing delicate lines through the hide until with one last, gentle slice - the meat sails downstream and the fur floats softly at his side. Venati protests, wings cupping the air as the falcon chases the escaping flesh. She alights on the body, pecking eagerly at meat he's never tasted while Coris laughs apologetically. He's still not accustomed to saving such parcels for his new companion.

---

It is in this manner, still relatively fresh from their hunt, that the duo come across Lotus and Tamlin. Perhaps Coris was subconsciously following the aroma of blood, too involved with humming a happy tune at his success and the gaining of a blanket before the coming of frostfall. Venati seemed to know better however, and pecked warningly at the stallions withers. Their partnership was at its beginning still however, and with limited communication with each other their signals often misread. Coris pushed on, thinking the bird still slighted by his floating dinner.

Thusly his features spoke surprise, swiftly molded into embarrassment, when he broke into the clearing where the mare and babe nursed. His abrupt movement opened up the thin scabbing that had laid over his injuries. The blood began to bead up and slowly dribble down his right foreleg, but he paid it no heed, the bite had since left it. Rather Coris was focused on the scene at hand. Ears laid back uncertainly as he cleared his throat to speak, unable to duck out now without losing all face. He warily eyed the dark of the foal, a sign of it being just wet which would mean the mare was especially protective and emotional. Cautiously he greeted, "Ah, 'allo thar missus. Din't mean ta intrude such, bud ince I'm 'ere, 'ow fair ye and child?" Coris smiled, his accent thick with his nerves. "By tha coloa, ah say ets Mauja's. Ah fine coolt ifun any. Didje name 'im missus?"

Coris's eyes grinned, nearly mischievous at realizing this was Mauja's babe. He hadn't been aware the king was taking any mares, and he was afraid he did not know this particular one, although she smelled...sweet. An aroma that surprised him with the tang of afterbirth saturating the air. He shook his head to clear his senses. No matter the mare, here stood their latest prince, a birth worthy of much praise and attention. With little though on it, Coris reached back to grab his lynx pelt. " 'Ere. Ah gift far tha prince such, it'll keep 'im warm 'ith frost'all comin like." Coris motioned to drape the pelt over the babe, should the dam accept the offering.