Honeyed Pasture i've got a good feeling; it doesn't happen very often

He was confident. That was comforting to her, in a way, as the sweat began to clam up the bottoms of her feet and the tang of late spring air fills her nostrils. She settles low beneath tall grass, muscles ablaze with the pressure she places on them to hold her crouch. Her view of the fawn is much clearer from where she stands now. 
She would make the first move. 
Abruptly, she launches forward, and the fawn wastes no time in bolting. It is unsteady, still young, but adrenaline is one hell of a drug. The chase had now begun. 
All they had to do was wait for an opportunity.