Sasha

Your will changes everyday
It's a road you've come upon
I can't help you if you want to
Down here nothing gets a chance
It's a threat that's real enough
We can burn this bridge or stay here
It's a breeze everlasting like time
Making so sure that
I can return just to see it from your side again

Sasha was aging. The mule deer doe feared she was barely fit for leading her herd anymore. She had to give her leadership to another soon. But who should she appoint to lead the Golden Rose Canyon Herd? She had promised the privilege to Rosco, her oldest son, but she was worried that the young buck was occasionally emotionally compromised. Legend had experience with leading, so he was another clear choice. But she did promise Rosco... It was all so confusing to the elder.
Slowly treading to the Canyon, Sasha shivered in the chilly wind. She stopped in a thicket of bushes, shortly followed by Zazille, a small, half-blind hybrid falcon. "Sasha," Zazille started, folding her wings and puffing her feathers out, "shall we consult another about this matter?"
"No, but thank you, Zazille," replied Sasha. "I do not want to bother anybody, nor do I want my decision to be swayed by the herd."
The falcon nodded, flicking her multicolored tail. "Very well, leader." Zazille then quickly set flight, landing in a tree and watching Sasha with her only functional eye. Should an enemy come from the south, Sasha may be vulnerable...

Martimoor & Others

Three felines stalked through the canyon on furred paws that masked all but the slightest of sound from their footsteps. They were quiet, speaking rarely and keeping their leads down, level with their shoulders that pulsated above their backs with each careful step they took. Martimoor was the largest among them, a regal lion who weighed almost a quarter ton, and who held a high ranking in the Nuova Alba as the leader of the Coalition group. Behind him trailed Stranglethorn, a slighter, 300-pound tiger hybrid with a maltese coating and a plethora of thin, vivid stripes that stood boldly against his pale, blue-gray coat. And behind him, reaching only half of Thorn's size and weight, was his daughter Dawnbreaker, who carried a very lithe and agile body that was meant primarily for speed rather than strength. Traveling ahead of all of them was the smallest of all, the little wolf hybrid Arochae, weighing in at a modest fifty pounds of muscle, fur, and bone. It was her keen nose and sharp ears that the bigger felines were relying on now to locate their prey.

The doe's scent reached Arochae on the cold wind and she paused to read over the odor. Nose twitching and muzzle tilted up, her posture told the others that she was onto something. A few seconds later, a brief, vigorous swish of her tail confirmed that she'd found prey... and more than just that. If her nose told her right, this was a member of the Golden Rose Canyon, a deer heard that Velvet herself had set a vendetta against. Arochae eagerly lead the feline brigade onward, winding carefully along the trails and uneven terrain, traveling downwind, until they were brought within a few dozen yards from their target. "We'll flush her. Aro, you know what to do." Martimoor whispered the plan on a quiet, whispered breath, so as it wouldn't be overheard by the doe.

The hunters knew precisely what to do, having practiced and played out this particular hunting strategy time and time again. The three felines spread themselves out downwind of Sasha, each finding a hiding spot to crouch down in. Arochea, meanwhile, circle wide around to place herself upwind of Sasha. She waited a few moments before beginning to stalk forward, without trying to be too careful about making noise; after all, her goal was to flush Sasha towards the waiting felines.