Eight made his way around the herd of mule deer, carefully. To spook them, or make his presence known before he or the other hunt members were ready would be disastrous. He knew what he had to do, it was time to do it, without incident.
He crawled through the tall grass, low as he could get, and as slow and quietly as he could carry himself through. The dry curtain of amber and gold chaffs concealed him very well.
Once in a while he'd peek up, his ears back, green eyes scanning the herd. He was looking for what he was suggested to, any Deer around the outside fringe of the herd. This meant...
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