He was the god of the hunt. He was the god of the hunt, whatever the girl online had said. Jack had been drinking a little after the meeting, and when his consciousness ever receded, Odin surfaced like the other end of a particularly bizarre see-saw. Normally, one might think this a good thing: Odin was responsible, he was wise and measured. Wasn't he?
No, he wasn't. Odin was bloodthirsty - the god of the hunt and the god of victory, this was a game and he was playing to win. He'd allowed himself to be tagged early, perhaps even the first one: there was much more fun in the chase, after all. Jack's footsteps were light in the forest, his breath silent and senses alert. He could track a hare from a thous--
There was smoke on the wind. Jack could smell it as clearly as if he was smoking it himself. He followed the trail a little way, delighting in the night air and the open space. Jack was a little too reserved most of the time, a little too concerned with his image and so this felt like a special kind of freedom.
He was stood on the rise now, downwind and lit rather pleasantly by the moon. The boy -was it a boy? Jack wasn't sure but he thought he'd seen him around the dorms- was just sitting there, presenting himself as a delicious target. It would have been possible to leap from here and tag him, but Jack, right now, savoured the hunt.
"It's more fun for us both if you run, you know." A wicked smile on his lips, his teeth bright in the moonlight.