Big Salmon Lake And the grass all smells the same

Though she tried to match his pace, he felt her hovering at a cautious distance, her presence like a whisper behind him. There was a tension to her, a barely contained excitement laced with the obvious, unspoken fear of failure. It reminded him of younger days when proving oneself felt like a battle in its own right.

It was the unfortunate fate of the second born child. Forever cursed to wither in the righteous shadow of his Queen sister.

Stark’s nose worked to pick up the faint scent of the herd. He adjusted his pace, giving her enough room to make her own moves when the time came but close enough that he could intervene if she faltered. He had a feeling he'd need to.

He didn't know why he felt the need to offer the girl some parting advice, but he couldn't stop his jaws from moving. “Keep your eyes forward. Trust your instincts." He sniffed. “And don’t lose your nerve.”

Stark slowed, signaling her to move as he crouched, his muscles coiled. He could see the soft brown coats of the fawns, the way they moved close to their mothers, blissfully unaware of the danger that lay in wait. Stark didn't offer Needle any warning before he moved, instead expecting her to read his body language.

He launched forward, propelling out of the brush with the strength that bunched up in his legs. Without hesitation, the brute broke into a sprint, tearing free of the undergrowth and into the fen clearing they grazed within. His focus was singular as he zeroed in on one of the smaller fawns, watching as its mother wasted no time in fleeing from its side.

How awfully maternal of her.