Bearclaw Valley test & recognize

attn @Revui

 

Ikkalrok prowled after a herd, having scouted a weak link within it. One was very young, likely born within the hour with how they moved. But the doe was on high alert, and it seemed they were heading to rejoin the herd. Truth be told, Ikkalrok was not certain as to that. It was the first time she had been near such a scene so recently after birth, but instinct told her it would be wise to act swiftly. 

Her dirt-brown eyes darted around the scene as her rounded ear swiveled. One more would do in this endeavor, to distract and take the mother on a path different than her fawn. One so green as its babe would be easy for her to overpower independently. It was not full grown, and her eyes shifted back to it as it stumbled around a shrub.

With pups here (she assumed that Merrick had gotten over whatever madness had taken him and would now allow the pups to live...), food would be their main priority. And luckily, they were not lacking for food. She spotted a deer herd wandering through the Valley. Some of the does look plump, and as to confirm her suspicions, there was a fawn tottering after one of them. Newly born, if she had to guess. She loped after the herd, her mouth open with excitement. There was another lupine figure following after the herd. Orson moved towards her, and she chuffed to the dark woman, indicating that she was interested in joining her hunt.

Another joined her, soon enough. Not her own silver bear, but a wolf who, by the look of them, appeared no less capable. They seemed willing to join the hunt, and Ikkalrok invites the other to take the lead. Ikkalrok was not made for the chase, but for the kill. Should the fawn find its legs with Ikkalrok after it, there might be a chance of its evasion; but if Orson led the thing into her bonecrushing jaws, that would be the end of it. To be sure, Ikkalrok would help in the chase, though she did not want them to fail before they even began.

Nary a word was said between them, but in the midst of the hunt, words were not often needed. She got the gist of the woman's gesture as she moved ahead. She was not much of a speedster, her heavy frame suiting her more for the tackle, but she was far less bulky than the woman she joined up. Orson took the lead, her eyes locked on the tottering fawn. She took a wide berth, sidling up the herd. She'd take them at an angle, hoping that her feint would give the herd a false sense of security before she started closing in — and that the fawn's naivety would keep it calm as she moved.