Haunted Wood Run Me Like a Racehorse

While there was something in Calhoun's tone that Bronco perceived as being reluctance, he didn't note the male's tone as being condescending. Being a humble, eager-to-please pupil definitely played into his favour here, where normally a larger ego might have been offended by the way he was being spoken to. But Bronco was quite willing to admit his ignorance, so long as he should learn something from the experience and from what he gathered from the somewhat cryptic message that the Déorwines were a family...One white quite a lot of dignity, and that their leader, the High Elk, made most of the decisions. He supposed, then, that Calhoun was likely one of those close to this High Elk- as it seemed he might have some sway in putting in a good word for Bronco. "Oh, uh, that's very kind of you, Mr. Déorwine, sir," He said. He didn't see why he should be favoured by the High Elk- and the comment about being blessed indeed whistled through the air between his eartips- but he found it a confidence boost to know he'd made a good impression. He knew it was an offer he would have to decline but it seemed that now was the time to hunt, and the talking could happen later. They'd likely have more success anyway, if he simply held off on telling Calhoun that he was already dedicated to a pack.

He was quick to follow Calhoun and lower his head to begin tracking alongside him, keeping a few steps back so that he was at the male's beige flank, nose twitching as the scent of deer became stronger and stronger. He felt his stomach gurgle readily as he raised his head, testing the scents that lingered now on the air as they closed in. A small herd became visible and he drew closer to Calhoun so that they might move as one tawny shadow. He gazed from one creature to the next, taking into consideration that there were only two wolves to perform the hunt. He was the sort who figured it was best to play it safe- and found his gaze drawn to what looked like a young deer, likely one that had been birthed in the spring and had grown into a gawky young adult, with no more spots and long, gangly legs. He followed it as it moved with his whiskey gaze, before he glanced to Calhoun hopefully.