no sneakier than a cartoon character

One paw forward and then the other. His belly practically brushing the ground as he crawled forward. Persistent and determined to catch his own fawn, he is nearly startled by the approach of something else. Fur bristles for a moment, ears folding backward until he looks to his side where he sees Ysmir sliding up beside him. Meeting the older wolf's gaze, Maelstrom nods in approval and agreement. There would be no need for words, they could hunt together in silence. The pup was glad mostly because he still had no idea how to lead a hunt and from the Dall sheep hunt, he had some kind of understanding that Ysmir didn't talk anyway. What a predicament that would be...

Refocusing his attention back on the game trail ahead of them, he sees how close they've prowled so far. Just on the other side of the berry bushes, the herd of deer lazily graze unaware of the two predators. Their tails swing back and forth, mouths chewing and ripping at the grass, eyes half closed with only a few deer on full alert at all times. If the wind were to shift even slightly their position would be revealed.

Pausing behind the bushes, Maelstrom takes another moment to study the positioning of the herd. Some of the fawns were playing and being rambunctious, playing a few feet from their mothers. Those ones would be the easiest to pick off. He meets Ysmir's gaze once more, nodding his nose toward the two fawns that leaped and pranced about.

Following along behind the bushes for a few more feet, making a wide berth around the herd, but closer to the fawns, Maelstrom would take his time. The slower the better he had been taught so far. If he conserved his energy and waited for the perfect moment, the hunt would be easy. Right? His mind was on these tips when he comes to face the fawns from the back, hidden in the shadows of the berry bushes. His muscles tense, ready to pounce when his fear of a shifting wind comes true. Rolling in off the ocean inlet, the cold breeze carries their scent to the deer and in a moment's notice, one of the older does is bleating out a loud alarm.

"Shoot. We gotta chase them, fast!" Maelstrom's voice reached a higher pitch that he would be embarrassed about later. Rushing from their hiding spot as the deer race out of the meadow, Maelstrom takes off after them, trying his best to keep up with at least the fawns or slower older does.

"Maelstrom"