It is a simple matter to grab a doe- whereas going after a caravan means armed and armored guards, and metal armor always gives you indigestion.
You dive into the trees, swooping easily through the trunks. You land in the branches of a tall, sturdy oak, knowing that the animals often pas by this tree.
You have sat not fifteen minutes when a human emerges from the brush. Not what you were expecting- but you're not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Judging by the swell of the chest and hips under the robe, it's a female.
And judging by her frantic checking of a map, she's lost.
