Panther Park there's a humming in the restless summer air

there is simplicity in this, a kind of divine balance. her and those who's life she seeks to steal, following, analyzing, watching the steps of cloven hooves and the thousand tiny movements that belie their intentions. the sound of earth underfoot, and pointed muzzle swings toward the newest player in this game. 

gold meets gold as her gaze meets his, gaze narrowing as she considers the man. a brute, as if chiseled from granite. raw power is what he offers, and so her target shifts. she does not reply immediately, instead motioning to one of the does. " our mark. I will cut her to you. " allowing a stranger to intercept her hunt is discontenting, but the doe is not a target she can take on her own. 

the creature in question is the oldest in its group, the only one of the trio of does without a fawn. she appears, for all intents and purposes, not dissimilar to the rest of them. but it the details that mark her for death; the hitch in her step, the way she reacts to a brush of wind, the snap of something in the distance, a second later than the rest of the group. she will trap the doe between a rock and a hard place, the latter being the small mountain armed with fangs that was the wandering male.