herd when he froze at a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't figure out what the patch was until it moved again and then he identified it; it was that damned cat of Rachel's.
He'd been stalking the herd of deer for the last half hour. Stalking was a highly skilled art but he'd been practicing for nearly fifty years and it was second nature to him at this point. The first part was finding the quarry, which was a matter of moving through the woods as if he was a deer himself. That required moving a few steps then pausing and actually making a bit of noise. If you tried to move absolutely silently it was impossible. So you had to move as if you were a foraging animal. A few steps. A movement of a foot. Watch, listen, smell, then move on.
The most important thing was to sight the deer before they