Bitterroot Valley ✢ With the holes in his sneakers

Veteran chased the three white-tailed deer southward at an easy lope. Unbeknownst to the deer, he had no intention of catching them. He was herding them, angling his pursuit so that the deer fled into the gentle hills in the valley at the base of the Sleeping Dragon. 

Veteran pulled up abruptly, unwilling to be caught in his own trap. From afar, he watched as two of the deer disappeared from view, escaped and free to live another day. The third dropped heavily to the ground. Veteran approached eagerly. He stepped carefully around the marmot burrows that littered the hills, one of which had been responsible for felling his prey. The wounded deer thrashed on the ground, foreleg clearly broken and eyes wide with fear. Veteran put it out of its misery swiftly. 

With his prey dispatched, he finally had a moment to breathe. When he did so, he detected traces of a marked boundary. That was new. He had just been hunting in this valley last week (or was it last moon?) and it was unclaimed. Hopefully, whoever the boundary belonged to would forgive his mistake. But Veteran wasn't counting on it. He buried his muzzle into his kill and began to gorge. He intended to consume as much as possible before the pack showed up to chase him away.