Fox's Glade gawad

For a fleeting moment, the stag could feel his heart spike. The beats were heavy and rapid - they weighed on his frame with a crippling pressure to protect himself. The prince's nose was flared wide. Rohan drank in every scent of the wood, every shift of the wind and the dangers it might have carried. The smell of wolf was faint there, but he did not know if this one would have others behind it. If he had grazed into a hunting party, he would flee. Until he saw them, the prince was grounded by his confidence and his pride. Even when the beast emerged and spoke it's tasteless joke, Rohan did well to hold his guard. 

"Do not deceive me, huntress. I know that when the beasts starve, it does not matter whether you are doe or buck... or fawn," the stag spoke in a powerful voice. His words filled the area, resonating with the depth of his distrust. But he was of the Elderwood. He could not lose his resolve, and he could not allow this fanged creature to bend him. It had been a long time since he had actually had one of them speak to him. The last had been the young alpha from the Elderwood. But that place was far behind him. He had traveled many miles to rid himself of that betrayal. He did not know these beasts the way he knew the hunters of the old forest.