he skalks his his prey carefuly silently he moves closer senseing the direction of the wind as
as it moves over his bare arms and face being sure to stay downwind he moves ever closer
awaiting his moment
the deer faises his head testing the air for the scent for any sign of a threat listening for
any sound watching for any movment
the hunter freezes as its prey raises its head slowing its breathing holding perfectly still
senses impossibly keen watching waiting patient as the forrest around it
scitishly the the deer looks around a large buck in its prime it knows well the the laws by
which it lives senseing no threat the morning is warm the breeze gentle and the dew on the
grass and flowers that its feeding sweet and quenching one last time the buck surreys the
glade and the others of its kind around it
