Honeyed Pasture i've got a good feeling; it doesn't happen very often

continuation of this thread! backdated for late april-ish

And so off Wren went, except this time, she was not alone. By her side was @Marcus, whose name she continued to roll around in her mouth when he wasn't looking. Part of her was hopeful that today was not the only time she would ever hear it.
Trees begin to grow sparse and give way to rolling hills, dripping with morning dew as the clouds glow with the rosy hues of dawn. A better time than ever for a hunt. 
Although not entirely inexperienced, Wren had yet to take on larger game with such a small number of wolves. Just the thought of the daunting task was beginning to make her pulse quicken and her heart thrum inside her chest, posture stiffening as the pasture grows clearer within her vision. Her nose tilts upward to the sky and then down toward the ground, chestnut gaze wandering briefly to her new-found companion. She could only hope he could not smell her nerves. Or see them on her face.
What's on the menu, y'think? Was what came from her mouth, big round eyes eager for an answer that he would - hopefully - have more readily than she. 

Marcus was sure to stay a little ways back, keeping the tip of his snout adjacent with Wren's broad shoulders. Occasionally he would glace over at her and smile to himself, watching her very seriously consider their next move. He was more of a free spirit in his wanderings, so appreciated this calculated nature in the doe-eyed woman.

The dew now clung heavily to his stocks, eliciting an uncomfortable grumble from the russet man. While he didn't mind being submerged in a lake or a river, there was something about being covered in dew. It made his skin crawl. Luckily for his partner, the icky feeling of wet stockings took his attention away from her nerves. He was only brought back by Wren's question. Ah yes, the task at paw.

"Go big or go home." It was a suggestion but one with a devious inflection to it.

When she squints her eyes, beneath the dappled glow of peach lies a rustle in the grass. A patch of yarrows reveals the tawny figure of a young deer fawn, wide-eyed and lonesome, crouched for safety and unknowingly alerting the pair to its presence with a shrieking call for a mother that was not there, and perhaps would not be looking. 
How convenient. 
Look, Wren gestures with a point of her nose, creeping to the slope of the hill with a tail that sways high above her haunches. Her nostrils flare. Y'think we can catch it? 

He follows Wrenn, sticking close to her side so as to not create too much of a commotion atop the overlook. "Easily." Marcus nudges her shoulder playfully with his own before leaving her, to take position elsewhere.

Yellow sights lock onto the fawn as he slithers amongst the surrounding bramble for cover. Launching an attack from a different trajectory would surely help their pursuit, ultimately raising the likelihood of sending the prey into a disoriented panic. Shifting his attention from the intended meal back to the dame, Marcus locked onto those big doe eyes and awaited her signal. He was a cocked pistol ready to release at the pull of her finger.

He was confident. That was comforting to her, in a way, as the sweat began to clam up the bottoms of her feet and the tang of late spring air fills her nostrils. She settles low beneath tall grass, muscles ablaze with the pressure she places on them to hold her crouch. Her view of the fawn is much clearer from where she stands now. 
She would make the first move. 
Abruptly, she launches forward, and the fawn wastes no time in bolting. It is unsteady, still young, but adrenaline is one hell of a drug. The chase had now begun. 
All they had to do was wait for an opportunity. 

She charged as any fierce huntress would, but Wren's long legs gave her the advantage over most. As her support, Marcus took to the chase as well. Tall grass nearly gobbles the fawn up at times, but the scent keeps him on it's tail. A rustling as he moves closer, mouth agape so as not to miss the opportune moment to strike.

The fire wolf was nearer now, flanking the left of the panicked prey whilst Wren was on it's other side. He caught her slender figure in his peripheral, a flash of grey carved from the forest he had met her in. One, two, three snaps he would place near the hind legs of the young deer. The claps of his jaws did not intend to puncture, but instead redirect towards his companion.

With Marcus's guidance, teeth of ivory land a blow to the flank of the fawn. It squeals, a hind hoof launched in Wren's direction with narrow avoidance that seemed to be of pure luck. But now it has stopped running. 
Coming to a skidding stop, Wren begins to circle it, testing whether or not it would try to make a run for it again. Nervous chuffs turn to prideful croons and snorts, a daring snap of jaws here and there. 
It seems to have begun to accept its fate. She spares a glance over to Marcus. She started it; she may as well let him end it.  

The smell of blood dilated his pupils ever so slightly, turning him into a shark as Marcus also began to circle the wounded prey. He was thankful Wren did not suffer any injury from the fawn's final attempt to throw her, and could now focus solely on the kill... and how hungry he was. The feeling had only resurfaced in the moment, and it was then that the loner realized how long it had been since he had a good meal. Too long. 

Wren was more vocal than he was although it was partially due to the fact that he enjoyed listening to her. Awaiting her decision the male closed in slowly, shifting on front paws to counter the deer's last few attempts to flee. It was time. Her glance electrified him, and so he ended the chase with a quick snap of the neck. 

Immediately, he brought the prize to her, laying its blood-stained corpse at her feet with a low whine. "M'lady." He knew he sounded dorky, that was the entire point. The line black line of his mouth parted to reveal a bloody grin, which was then promptly licked clean of any lingering gristle.

Wren's breathing comes in short, shallow pants, slumping down into a sit as their shared prize is brought over and ready to be eaten. She is assertive in the fact that she is who gets the first bite, tearing at flesh with crimson-stained canines while their kill is still warm. God, she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything of substance. 
You've got some skill, there, she comments through closed teeth, swallowing a chunk of muscle before her eyes meet his again. not bad for only the two of us, eh? 

Wren sits back after a while, lazily slinking to the ground and curling her legs under her chest. She'd had her fill; having gone with so little for so long made her appetite seemingly shrink, for the fear of throwing it back up. She spends this time cleaning a splash of blood from a foreleg, watching as it fades, the metallic taste lingering in her mouth. 

She is elusive in her staring, careful to keep it discreet. What an odd coincidence for a man like him to have swooped in when she needed him. He is graceful in his own right, an unbending confidence that provides security - but she is not a damsel in need of saving. Or so she likes to think of herself. 

I'm shocked you don't have a pack of your own, there's a pause, and then, or a woman. 

A brow raises as his ravenous hunting partner takes her share. He was patient and so had little problem with it. Marcus subconsciously licks at the blood that now began to crust around his once white maw. "Skills." The man grunted. "You should see me fish. I'm a regular angler." Slowly now, his crown dips to finish where Wren left off. Ripping the pelt off first was his favorite part of any large game kill. 

Stripping the meat until he too was full, there was an uneasiness the wolf felt deep in his chest, although the loner couldn't place a paw on why it settled there. The two relaxed now, facing each other, with the shredded corpse of a once lively fawn displayed between them like a center piece. It was an homage to the hunt itself.

"A woman? No, no." By the grace of whatever higher power there was above, he managed to not sound shocked or upset. It was but a light hearted laugh that he returned as his red crown shook back and forth. There was no lie here, so he didn't feel bad for withholding further information. She didn't need to know. "Maybe a pack one day but for now... I'm content with days like this."