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

She charged as any fierce huntress would, but Wren's long legs gave her the advantage over most. As her support, Marcus took to the chase as well. Tall grass nearly gobbles the fawn up at times, but the scent keeps him on it's tail. A rustling as he moves closer, mouth agape so as not to miss the opportune moment to strike.

The fire wolf was nearer now, flanking the left of the panicked prey whilst Wren was on it's other side. He caught her slender figure in his peripheral, a flash of grey carved from the forest he had met her in. One, two, three snaps he would place near the hind legs of the young deer. The claps of his jaws did not intend to puncture, but instead redirect towards his companion.