Neverwinter Forest My poor heart grows a hole

Pangur too leapt from the brush as Eydis led, a moments hesitation spared to see which path the younger deer would take before winding around to the side to interrupt that path—the less chase, the better.

Alas, deer are quicker, and their quarry pivoted in a sharp movement, bolting; at the very least a little staggered from that maneouvre. Now the chase begun, and both hunters were eager to see it ended quickly; Pangur braved the flurry of limb and hoof, and clamped her jaws onto the bony stilt of the deer. 

She was a deer hunter through and through, a ritual done a hundred times over; though her strength was not endless, and her attempts to slow the adolescent were fleeting.