Redhawk Caldera Hunter's Furyyyy!

Hotah moved in easy rhythm with her, dark frame gliding low through the brittle grass. The quiet suited him; hunting had never needed words. His focus tunneled down to the deer ahead— every flick of their ears, every pause in their steps. He tracked for weakness, waiting for that one mistake.
It wasn’t hard to picture how the spoils would be used: the softest cuts for Towhee and Amalia, the rest split and stashed away before the snows locked the world down. Maybe the kids would even get a hoof to bat around. It made the work feel like more than just instinct.
He caught Trailhawk’s sidelong glance and dipped his head, a subtle flick of his tail— ready.
Then he moved.
A burst of power carried him out of the brush, paws slamming the earth as he cut hard toward the flank of the herd. The deer scattered in a panic of hooves and snow-dust, and Hotah pressed forward through the chaos, singling out a smaller yearling that had stumbled wide from the others. He drove at it fast, sharp and relentless, aiming to break it off and drive it back toward Trailhawk’s waiting teeth.