Wapun Meadow turnabout

With the sound of rustling grass, Dovev lifted his neck to catch Star coming into view. The wind had been blowing cross-ways, and he hadn't been too wary of tracking her progress. But it seemed she hadn't been too far behind him.

I think it's elk, Dovev murmured in response to her greeting, swiveling to position his nose in the breeze. The constant rush of air was intermingled with the smell of dry grass, pine, and scent-markers. But it was there, an undercurrent, but fresh. He would suspect whatever elk there was to be about a half hour away, due southwest.