You better love me, 'cause you're just a clone, v2

She took the chance to wisk @Poseidon away to the jagged peak. Near the doe's range could one see it's jawing form, peaked ridges as within the distance the occasional sound of horns clacking against each other in that of a fierce fight. Rams enjoyed the mountains, perhaps partaking the salt that hide away from the spiring peaks, and the delicious grass hidden away within but sacred tunnels of the crag.

"Troublesome ones alone, they surely are easier with two," for by now he too must've heard the rams clackering, the occasional sound of them in the distance as they baa'd at each other, and smiled at him from behind, "would you like to be the striker, or the chaser?"

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 The ridges that divided his brother's lands with those farther to the north had always loomed front and center in Winterheart Forest. Poseidon had never ventured that way or tried to cross over them — he was not adventurous in quite that way. He didn't care whether he could scale a mountain or not, especially with Amphitrite being how she was. Sometimes she was affectionate toward him, sometimes not. He didn't want to be away to miss it.
 He thought, as he hunted with another woman.  Poseidon looked up at the clacking sounds, unfamiliar with these animals. He had once heard vaguely of great rams that roamed the cliffs of the Caspian Sea, but this was nowhere near that.
 “The...what?” Poseidon knew how to hunt, sort of. He had caught animals in his mouth before. It was a new, but necessary thing for him since he could not longer wander out to his favourite hole-in-the-wall and order "the usual" from the owner. He gathered quickly that she was asking if he wanted to be the one to... chase? Or.... strike?
 He had never been in a group hunt before.
 “What are you better at?” He deflected, mathing it out in his head, which seemed to have shrunk since his transition to wolfdom.

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The great divider that was between Nightwalkers and Elkshire claimhold. A thirst of more to both of them and yet jagged line blocked between. A jawbone, was what near her own more then that of the Winterheart forest — spires that daunted anyone who came near.. Yet also lured for the tasty morsels that claims to it's slopes. The clacking of ram horns heard within the distance was but a provement of such desired that could come of most. She would not waste such a luxury. 

When she looked at him he almost seemed confused of her statements. It brought a faint memory of the lone woman of red, drapped in white tears who mentioned of their Godhood.. Of course it brought a jest to the Queen to think they called themselves Gods at one point, and now but just a wolf. A smile to her face but did not openly mock such thoughts, wondering how much of a ruse they would do to the point not even know the basics of hunting terms.

Though she liked Posiedon, even if conquering came, he would be spared — "Chasing is garning the prey toward the striker, where they make the killing blow — I prefer the chase." With a paw on her chest she admitted so and unspokenly put the two into their destined roles, as it seemed he was rather vague on them.. Celnes assumed they were the same in height but he had more muscles then herself, perhaps better at gaining the headstrike of a ram.

Risky at times to be the chaser though, for it gains the anger of the prey depending on their deposition.. Yet if she lured it to the other, at least she couldn't be at the end of the horns, and place that upon the sea god.

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