(Insert Deer Pun Here)

Úlfr took a deep breath of the sweet air before walking into the tall grass off the sweetgrass basin. It was gold and lovely, swaying in the breeze but what was slightly unnerving was how tall the grass was. It stretched up above his shoulders and as he looked out at the horizon all he could see were rows and rows of golden grass. And yet, off in the distance he could see a small herd of deer grazing peacefully in the autumn breeze. Úlfr could smell blood though, and he knew that one of them was injured. If he had to guess it was one of the bucks. Autumn was the season of the rut, at least for whitetail deer. He assumed it was the same with mule deer. Perhaps a pair of the bucks had gotten engaged in battle and one of them was injured and weakened. All he had to do was find the injured animal and then give it a shot.