Overture Downs soft light

Renaud did not, as a rule, devote much of their time to trying to be quiet. By now it just happened, a point of pride if they had one. Always one for lurking. Lurking did imply something to lurk around, though, and right now they weren't doing anything so much as walking. Decidedly aimless, as it had been since they left home. They were coming to realize it wasn't something they were built for. Not that it was insurmountable trouble, keeping themselves fed and watered, just repetitive. They had and could handle far worse; perhaps it was childish to say they were bored. Well, there was nobody around to make such a judgment.

They paused at the top of the next hill. It took a bit of tiptoeing to peer over the grass to where the pale morning light reflected every fleck of dew, but before them the ground sloped down into a short valley and offered a fair vantage, more than necessary to see the bison down below. Wreathed in mist, practically blurred into their surroundings. They were not and had never been out for sightseeing, but it was beginning to gain its appeal. At least it was something to do.

They stood there, peering out over the herd, until one lifted its head and bellowed a warning. Renard huffed under their breath -- how in the world were they -- but no. The bison swung its head around, but did not so much as glance in Renard's direction, and after a few moments where all of them shifted as though preparing to run, they settled back to grazing.

It would be embarrassing to have been seen that easily (even if they could claim they hadn't been really trying) but it seemed unlikely. Or maybe they were just full of shit. But again, nobody around to judge on that, so Renaud slid back into something more closely approaching a crouch and picked their way down the slope, heading for the fallen tree that made a noticeable divot in the grass. Bored they might be, causing a stampede was not on the agenda for today.