Moonspear the notes of a strained refrain

The two hunters moved forward silently, doing what they could to minimize noise and avoid having the herd take to running. If they could watch from a distance, there was a good chance that they’d be able to learn which of the members were weakest and mark them for a hunting party later.
 
While the two beasts prowled on the outskirts of their prey, Atlas could not help but to wonder just how much his tracking skills would develop during the winter months. He had grown into his ability to track different types of animals and to learn some of their mannerisms and what that behavior meant for a group of hunters. Though there was still quite a bit for the dark yearling to master, he had sprouted from anxious roots and had developed more of a strength in his ability. It sparked a thirst to become more and better in his field.
 
When the gold of his father’s gaze settled on him, the inkwell yearling noted it. His own sunlight vision searched the herd curiously before he turned his Dirge and his brow creased thoughtfully.
 
“There are a few,” the shade whispered, “that might be worth keeping an eye on. That old doe with the gash in her leg.” Atlas motioned toward the target he was referencing. She stood well on the leg, but when she moved forward to graze, it could be noted that she favored it considerably. It would mean that she would make for an easier mark than the others; a hunting party would be able to fell her with ease.