Two Rivers Isle he jests at scars that never felt a wound

No worries! I am in no rush. :)

His eyes were trained on the deer. If the doe put up her head, he stilled his paws and waited to move until she resumed feeding. He kept this methodical pace to the bottom where the bare slope transitioned to patchy brush and the snow underfoot became damp grass. He sunk into the cover about to make his final stalk when another scent crossed his nose.

He lifted his snout, drawing the current of the wind. Unable to see another from where he stood, he carefully stepped through the thicket, maneuvering like a sage old buck through the shrubs as he keeps tabs on his does, until he could see the dark female nearer the treeline. Ears cupped forward, his eyes peered into the forest for other shapes, but he neither smelled nor saw any.

Jagwyr turned his head toward the deer and let his thoughtful stare and his interest linger at length in their direction, with just one ear craned toward the other wolf. He could just make out the adult, but the fawn — his target — was obscured. The black male licked his lips, and then glanced back to the female.

He signalled her with a calm wag of his tail and gestured with his head toward the hunt — an invitation. His ears were swung toward her in anticipation, awaiting an answer that did not need to be spoken.