Otatso Wetlands eight

o right on, thank you! ill roll once they get closer to a deer

The sun had long reached past it's zenith when Dovev finally stopped, pleased at their location. Their path swung in an arc, turning back west as they criss-crossed some of the cold, hardened mud, stalking among bent wintry ferns and over small drifts of snow. Now they stood on a low ridge that heralded a stretch of gray tundra that provided a buffer between the woods and marshes.

His nose twitched as he paced the ridge a bit, ears flickering as he heard the faint chuffs of deer, who were hidden underneath the pines. Dovev could smell no more than ten with his current position, and guessed it was a group of young bachelors and their mothers, so there was little point and trying to single out a yearling.
We should try to move them out of the trees, he suggested, stopping to investigate the earth at his clawtips. The deer had trudged up this ridge and their smattering of hooves had churned the muddy berm. Nothing alerted the white male to the presence of a sick, old, or wounded deer, and so their hunt was already facing significant odds.