Redtail Rise pilot.

they breach the ridge, father and son, grassland spilling beneath them.

the herd: eight of them, bobcat counts in his mind, fan out.

too many for them to hunt on their own, bobcat thinks. to try now would be risking injury or death, surely.

there is no young among them; though his gaze touches each female whose sides were heavy with unborn young.

father looks to him and bobcat's gaze meets his for a prolonged moment; body posture shifting to one of unease, communicating that given the current demographic of the herd it would not be wise to hunt.

at least, not until later in the spring. maybe early to mid summer; but he is young still, largely guessing and hasn't lived enough season cycles to truly be able to understand the season cycles of other animals in full.