Broken Antler Fen tossed in a cell to feast with the fleas

He was a creature born for this sort of season, when the foliage wilted severely and lost its colorful pelage. Leaf litter may have been the only thing that would have given him away, but the soft crunch of it beneath his feet tied in with the ambient din. He had hunted for years and while he may not have claimed a particular mastery over it, he did possess the skill to move near silently as he blended in against the autumnal backdrop.

His gaze darted from elk to elk, also aware that there was at least another set of antlers in their midst. Two was a lowball amount; elk herds often had their share of either gender and were often large in size, but this one was not nearly as large as he would have hoped. Disappointment creased his features; this was yet another splinter group that had more than likely been chased and picked through already.

Of course, it didn’t deter him from making his own assessments of the herd as time passed. While the majority were healthy, he knew there were those that had suffered in their trials and trails through, or around the mountains, from wherever they had come. For all he knew, this one could have only arced up towards Moonspear from the south, found that the valleys and mountains here were full of predators, and then left.

He snaked through a narrow passage between old stones and wood on the last leg of his circling, having wove a path that left him satisfied with what he had seen. But he did not immediately find Keres near where they had parted and so he reclined to his haunches to wait; his gilded gaze shifting between the herd as they slowly roamed, and watching for the silvery head of his sister.

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