He had expected her to nod and point him over to where he might have better luck in making another attempt to fish, but instead she uttered a single word, "Deer." One deep breath was all it took. The musk curled in his nostrils and made him come back onto the sand and pebble bank. Namid's tail began to wag and Rook's followed suit as he took a quick look around, watching and waiting for the sight of sepia-toned fur. The deer was probably just beyond the trees. Namid brought his thoughts back to the edges of the wetlands with a simple question.

The Lyall's lips drew into a thin line, all sorts of scenarios and probabilities forming at the forefront of his mind. His head ultimately tilted as he came forward, spotting a young doe's rump between two thick cedar trunks. Every instance in which he had helped take down a deer commonly included at least three or other wolves. He was often apart of the party that sought out their target, charging and barreling through the underbrush in attempt to knock the hoofed creature off their feet. His own mismatched eyes went to Bishop and where she rested in a makeshift bed of tall grass; a part of him was not quite sure if she would be so willing to work with Namid but with Namid being so eager just to try and accomplish such a feat, he supposed it could be good practice.

One of his whiskered brows came up as he turned to his fishing mentor, half a smirk appearing on his face before the expression completely morphed into a grave and solemn one. "Are you sure we can do it?" he questioned, his words causing the doe's ear to appear from behind a tree as she seemingly gazed in their direction (it was perhaps a rather good thing that deer did not have x-ray vision or anything of the sort). One of his ears turned to the side, the opposite remaining turned forward in a rather quizzical expression. He hastily lowered his voice to a forced whisper, "Do you have experience with this sort of stuff? I've only ever taken down something like a deer with a hunting party of four or five."

Rook could clearly hear the deer foraging on the low-hanging branches of the thickets; it made the fur around his shoulders stand up on end. "Hah-yoo-mans?" he repeated the word under his breath, his pessimism and skepticism starting to get the best of him. He shot a look at the back of Bishop's head. At present, Namid's words had already hooked him in; and, a part of him, a small part, really, was willing to go ahead and indulge her rather whimsical idea. Since arriving in Relic Lore, he and his sister had survived without the luxurious feasts of deer and elk, choosing to save their energy for something manageable like rabbits and groundhogs and marmots. The Star Dancer began to test the winds, inching her muzzle up into the air and Rook hesitantly forced himself to focus.

He, too, sampled the breeze, taking note as to where the winds were blowing. As his mother and father had taught him and his siblings, he pinpointed an ideal location to hide, instantaneously making a map in his head as to where the deer should go and where a perfectly timed ambush would be ideal. Namid had a different idea and the masked youth found himself being led along and into the trees at a pace that had him scampering after her. At the very least, he was grateful that she stayed downwind of the creature and utilized the growing shadows of the evening. Once she had come to a stop, he, too, came to a halt, his head held low as he peered through the gaps between the trees.

Again, he arched a brow as he looked at her. He issued the softest snort he could manage, a sharp puff of air that hopefully garnered her attention... a simple sound that wordlessly asked her, So, now what do we do?

His brows came up and his nose twitched. She seemed to apologize though by the look of it, with her ears coming down and all. Rook, too, apologized; he shook his head twice and pointed with his a small jab of his muzzle toward the doe. It was apparent now the type of personalities each of them were. Where Rook was somewhat desperately looking for direction, a solid plan, Namid, it seemed, was the opposite, constantly "testing the waters" and easily adapting with a sense of spontaneity. She gestured back at him, drawing his attention to their prey to signify that she was going after it - then twirled around on her feet in a circle - to herd the doe? His eyes had narrowed as he tried to picture such a hunting strategy in his head.

Ultimately, he sniffed, then lowered his head down in a single nod. Okay, he seemed to say, the thoughtful and doubtful expressions leaving his face. That could work... She stepped in front of him then; had he not been paying close attention, he might have gone ahead in his usual position - the one his mother commonly requested of him - the ambusher or tackler. Paired with a wolf of similar physique - which, in the past, had been his father, Trisden, or Bishop - he proved to be an asset, helping with bringing their victim down to the ground. He lifted his left forepaw to point at the deer this time then opened his jaws widely before closing it with a soft click of his teeth.

Am I going to be the one attacking? he silently questioned, parting his jowls once more before quietly closing it a second time.

Another nod. He nodded back, signaling to her that this time he was ready with the accompanying wag of his tail. The deer had stopped moving again but this time it seemed to be looking in the wrong direction; it had probably misjudged where it heard the soft click of the Lyall's teeth. Time was silently ticking away now, and if they were going to make an attempt to bring the young doe down, they were going to have to do it quick. The deer was on the move again; Namid's gaze was drawn away from his face and towards their target. Rook followed suit, his own dual-colored irises taking in the deer's willowy limbs and knobby knees.

As quietly as he could on the carpet pine needles that cushioned the forest floor on the edges of the Marsh, he crept around the trees with his head held low and his bear-like ears held up high in utmost awareness. His tail held itself nearly parallel to his spine as he opted for the best position to try and catch their prey. To be quite frank, it was dangerous for them to attempt such a feat alone. He stopped in his tracks, the sensation of his heart beating feeling as though it were pulsing against his eardrums. Purposefully, he lifted an ivory paw and pressed down on the branch of a low-lying shrub. The crisp-sounding snap immediately sent the deer on high alert.

He should have asked Bishop to help them...

The hoofed beast spun around, its black nose wriggling while it tried to discern who or what was nearby. Rook paused between two closely-rooted trees, his gaze flitting from where Namid was bound to come bursting toward it and where the deer currently stood. If he was going to at least try to ensnare the deer, then he was going to give it his best; but, in his mind's eye he already knew that they would not succeed. He would have to pay close attention; just one misstep or one wrong assumption meant that he would easily miss it or even get a hoof to the face.

Everything unfolded much like dominoes toppling over in a chain reaction without an anticipated outcome; and, as Namid darted forward, the deer reacted, which prompted Rook to react in turn. It spotted Rook standing there with his muzzle wrinkled and teeth bared and began to flee towards the depths of the Cedarwood to his left. With his paws digging into the ground, he, too, was off. Namid tried to steer it, to guide it elsewhere so that Rook could also adjust and see what he could do. A loud woof sounded out somewhere on his right side and the doe, frightened even more, turned fully around and started bounding toward the Marsh.

He scrambled to turn around, charging after it. This deer was probably as old as he was, but being born with lengthier limbs and the natural, inbred instinct to make itself scarce when predators are present, it easily outran Rook, whose stockier physique lent him the attribute of strength and brawn instead of speed and being quick on his toes. In what seemed like an instant, it had led the duo across the shallows of the wetlands, its hooves splashing about as it made to retreat into the opposite tree line made of willows and an assortment of other trees that weren't firs or evergreens.

Rook eventually came to a slow walk before fully stopping and sinking his paws into the submerged silt, watching the doe, with her white-tail pointing skyward in alarm, leap further into the distance. If Namid wanted to try and turn it back around, she could, but at this point it was already a useless cause. Rook needed someone else to help him in addition to keeping the deer moving forward, but it was apparent that a third set of eyes, jowls and ears were needed to intercept the deer and give him a window of opportunity to clasp his jaws on a hind leg once its endurance began to wane. He couldn't even keep up with the thing... He glared after it, exhaling loudly as his gaze followed and looked toward his hunting companion.

It had been worth a shot but for an adult wolf with a yearling as support, a young deer was a challenge. The Lyall thought back to Trisden, Renier, and Bishop, who was more than likely unfazed by the additional splashing. He held his breath a few times to steady his heartbeat to a more natural, calm rhythm and eventually sighed. His eyes took in the sight of the dark blue sky. Besides, they were already out of light to work with now that the sun had already descended below the mountain range.