Two Rivers Isle he jests at scars that never felt a wound

Once she started to move in his direction, he turned his attention back to the hunt. Jagwyr slid forward at an reserved lope, strategically affording her the chance to come to his side without expending herself to do so. From the corner of his eye he beheld the grin she met him with, and he offered her a tip-down of his muzzle in return before he quickened his pace and weaved a route through the cover that would conceal their approach. "Doe. Fawn." He informed her in a deep, gravelly whisper.

His sense of distance was keen, honed by experience and the sear of hunger that came with failure. He slowed when they drew near even though the deer could not be seen through the thick web of branches. The wind and the deer's scent struggled to buffet the brush too, but it was detectable occasionally. The black wolf glanced to his hunting partner, passing a thoughtful glance over her. "You cut and drive," he said, leaving it to her to choose a target once they broke cover.

Jagwyr moved again, snaking and stealing the rest of the way to where the shrubs yielded to meadow. To where the deer could be seen grazing with their backs to them. The doe was closest, the fawn off to her right shoulder several lengths away. The wolf split off from his comrade, moving to the side, ready to break when she did to flank the game she selected.