Redhawk Caldera rosebowl

Bronco hadn’t noticed the way her gaze had become distant, or the subtle longing that might’ve been hinted by the downturn of her lips. He was lost in his own memories of hunting deer with his packmates- from the first time he’d watched the Firebirds hunt from the sidelines as a pup, to his near-death experience with Meerkat and Toad. 

The quietness had been easy. He hadn’t expected her to speak to provide conversation as they walked along, and he’d found no discomfort exploring his own thoughts while she leafed through her own. 

He was surprised when she apologized, and recognized immediately that her reverie hadn’t been as fond as his. ”That’s OK, I was just thinking too.” He said. He stumbled lightly over a root that caught his hind foot, but he side-stepped with a chuckle. ”I’m a total fumble-arse even when I’m not lost in thought I guess,” He said. 

His remedy for any sort of malaise was humour. ”Y’know, I nearly got gored to death by a mule deer one year. I mean, I’ve obviously been nearly mauled to death…A couple times…But this one, here,” He said, gesturing to a long, pale line in his fur along his side, ”That was a deer. Didn’t even get to eat him afterwards, that’s the worst part.” He said lightly, glancing toward her, hoping he’d helped to cure her mood.