Redhawk Caldera Free bird.

Hotah slipped into place at the edge of their loose formation, paws silent over the hard ground. His eyes tracked the herd as it moved— the buck, the does, the four half-grown fawns— instinct already sizing them up.
Beside him, Towhee and Killdeer spoke in sharp, flicking motions of their paws and ears. Ptero, he realized. He didn’t know the language, not yet, but he caught enough in the way their gazes cut to the smallest fawn, in the tautness of their shoulders.
Ambush was off the table— he could see that for himself. This would be a full-out rush.
When Towhee launched forward, Hotah followed, muscles surging as his dark frame tore across the grass in her wake, ready to cut the fawn from the herd.