Honeyed Pasture the world is already on my side

Anybody up for a friendly hunt in neutral territory?

The herds were returning.

Having lived all of his life with the Sea to satisfy his need for sustenance, still Szymon found himself well equipped for helping to bring down larger game; being raised in Warsaw, bred and trained for war, he was a proficient warrior whether on land or in the water. And when the heavy beat of cloven hooves drummed through the pasture that was just beginning to heal from whatever malady had struck the land before Szymon’s arrival, he moved swiftly downwind — the sound of his careful paws wholly drowned out by the ungulates’ uneven cadence. It appeared to be a small group of deer — of what breed, Szymon couldn’t say — and he moved with his lean abdomen scraping the ground, careful to remain out of sight. It would be follow to attack alone, and he glanced over his shoulder at the Donnelaith territory. Daring a howl of invitation to the wolves of the wood or any rovers like himself, he pitched his voice low and even, grazing the bottom of his deep bass register.

He only hoped he would not be chased off after alerting them to this bounty.