Wapun Meadow good, honest work

Cole approached, his breath steady despite the chase. Dust clung to the edges of his pelt, and blood darkened the earth between them. He looked at the doe—lifeless now—then up at Dolce.
Couldn’t have done it without you, he said, voice low but solid. Genuine.
He stepped beside the fallen creature, giving it a final glance, then nodded once in quiet respect for the kill.
Let’s get it back before the scavengers catch wind. His golden eyes flicked toward the treeline, always watching. We’ll eat well tonight.
With a final look to Dolce—an acknowledgment not just of the hunt, but of the bond formed in it—he reached down, gripped the doe’s hind leg in his jaws, and began the long pull home.