Fox's Glade gawad

The wind shifted only just so that the scent of the predator shifted toward the grazing beast. He could not tell how close the animal was, but Rohan’s proud head reared upward, and he peered with scrutiny into the wooded area. Nothing stirred; the prince breathed out a heavy sigh and lowered his crown once more to pluck at the earthy greens. When he had met his fill, he turned his attention to the darker portions of the glade. The weather had been dismal; rain poured down endlessly, and the clouds overhead were thick and dark. It did not appear as though the onslaught of water would cease for some time. The royal beast had sought a dark woodland terrain to make a temporary home.
 
When the wind shifted again and brushed through the stag’s coarse russet coat, the scent of the hunter was stronger. Rohan turned sharply toward the origin of the breeze and huffed into the air. The unease the crept along his spine was infuriating. The prince took a commanding step toward the brush and overhang and lowered the tines of his rack toward the earth. “I can scent you in there, fanged one,” Rohan spoke in a warm baritone. The daring look in his chestnut gaze was all that kept him so firm.