[ Eddie's question goes unanswered, at least with words. By the way Set lifts his feet and examines the bottoms of his soles, he's truly readying for competition; the proverbial jock that he is, there is no dissuading him from his role. Not easily. Every hunt he undertakes is another notch in his post, every win exists to remind him that he is not incapable -- that fate only sought to humble him in competition with Horus, not here. Not in this place, where he only has mortals and the occasional immortal or divinity-adjacent to throw himself into the fray against.
The prey receive their headstart, all darting legs and determination to succeed in their own portion of the game, while Set awaits the permission to go, to chase, to track and trace the path that his partner has left for him.
When they are permitted to go, he lunges like a hound off the leash, surpassing several startled 'hunters' as he darts, gazelle-agile, into the corn maze and begins to throw himself into the depths of it. After a while, the tracks left behind by the mass of prey begins to lighten, as individuals began to break off and head in different directions, seeking their own victories -- and it is there at the junction of several divisions that he throws his head back and sniffs. Even in this place, his delicate sense of smell still operates; it can peel apart the layers of scents, seeking the one that he knows -- the partnered scent of red scrunchie, and the faint atmosphere of the 'grass' that Eddie had so generously mentioned.
He's off again, in an instant. This time, confident enough in his proximity to begin Marco Polo'ing in delight: ]
You really should have chosen to hunt, if you wanted to win!
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The prey receive their headstart, all darting legs and determination to succeed in their own portion of the game, while Set awaits the permission to go, to chase, to track and trace the path that his partner has left for him.
When they are permitted to go, he lunges like a hound off the leash, surpassing several startled 'hunters' as he darts, gazelle-agile, into the corn maze and begins to throw himself into the depths of it. After a while, the tracks left behind by the mass of prey begins to lighten, as individuals began to break off and head in different directions, seeking their own victories -- and it is there at the junction of several divisions that he throws his head back and sniffs. Even in this place, his delicate sense of smell still operates; it can peel apart the layers of scents, seeking the one that he knows -- the partnered scent of red scrunchie, and the faint atmosphere of the 'grass' that Eddie had so generously mentioned.
He's off again, in an instant. This time, confident enough in his proximity to begin Marco Polo'ing in delight: ]
You really should have chosen to hunt, if you wanted to win!