Bramblepoint Apples for a Doe Doe

It was pleasant morning.
A gentle mist in the autumn air kept Moth's fur cool as they wandered among the brush and brambles, snacking on berries as they did. They liked berries. Liked the sweetness and the mild effort of getting to the best ones. 
They weren't much of a hunter, they knew. Voles and mice were the best that they could get on their own, maybe a rabbit or a groundhog if they were lucky. But fruit was easy. Fruit didn't run or thrash. No one would fight them over fruit.

As they crept through some particularly thorny blackberries, the gentle breeze blew a scent towards them. Deer, they thought. Dead, but fresh.

Moth pushed their way out of the bushes and towards the smell. Berries were fine, but meat was better. If the deer had died naturally, or been killed by some predator that would abandon the carcass after eating its fill, they might not have to hunt for several days. If not... they were good at slinking off. They'd been told that before. 

They stuck to the bushes, trying to remain unseen. The mist half-blocked their vision, but they could see well enough. There was definitely a deer, freshly killed... and a large, fierce-looking wolf standing in front of it.