—Third Person POV.—
Shifting through the thickening foliage, a mismatched gaze flickers downwards—immediately catching sight of the pack of Dire wolves devouring their fresh kill at the bottom of the ravine.
They were large beasts that would tower at the height of any normal tree, how they've managed to slink into this part of his realm? His Highness wouldn't know.
The ivory Shire's hooves thumped noiselessly, thankfully muted against the forests grass, and his grip shifted the reins off to the side—heel lightly nudging the horse in their direction.
Once their proximity had shortened, the Prince let the reins fall inside his lap and fixed to ready the bow and arrow sitting idly on his hip.
Raising the weapon up, he was still too far away for a good shot, but he urged the horse closer with the light tapping up his heel against its side—silently bringing him within range of the bloodthirsty creatures.
The Prince took aim, dragging his right arm back so the colored feathers could graze his cheek.
And a tendril of ice trekked around the arrows body, coating the tip into a sharpened shard before letting the thin projectile fly with the flick of his wrist.
It pierced one of the wolves necks, it's broad stature stumbling to the side with a guttural yelp—if he had been closer, the ground surely would've been shaking from its steps.
Just as the cry filtered into the air, the ice embedded in its fur traveled over the rest of its neck, restricting the Dire wolfs throat before continuing on and fully locking its being into the frozen prison.
The others heads snapped upwards, two of them keeping their teeth in the shared mean even as they let out collective snarls—constricted pupils collectively searching for the source of the danger.
The Prince swiftly nocked another arrow and drew his arm back, letting his quirk overtake the wood for only a second before taking the shot.
This one struck another wolf in the shoulder, instead of the intended kill shot to the head, but it didn't seem to matter as the ice immediately froze over its body as well—shortening the beasts last breath.
The remaining wolves had spotted him and turned, bolting off out of the ravines clearing and weaving into the thicket.
And despite the immediate danger following suit, one of them was clearly more interested in his food than the galloping Shire—he kept hold of the carcass as he ran away with the others.
Seeing this, he slipped his right hand from the reigns, the tips of his pointer and middle fingers enveloped to form icicle's.
Another flick of his wrist, the Prince slung the sharpened pieces forwards—shooting at the one lagging behind and dragging the dead animal, but his attack had just barely grazed the Dire wolfs fur.
Feeling the sharp objects whizz past its body, one met a tree, immediately freezing the piece of nature upon contact while the other sunk into the hip of another wolf escaping further up ahead.
A yap sounded off and the creatures jaws went slack, dropping the kill to run faster.
He had urged his horse after them all, watching as the one with the icicle in its hip ran along with the other six.
They had split up through the trees after a while and eventually the ice crawled over the injured wolf—it's slack leg tiring it out, slowing its movement, and causing it to fall behind.
Flopping to the floor in a heap, a final breath escaped its panting jaws in a misty puff as the Prince came to a stop near its body, heterochromic gaze glancing down onto its frozen remnants before letting out a sigh—allowing a similar vapor to escape his lips.
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