The brick tsabhua doe slid towards the slate huntress, tail flicking.  "Wheeler!" She called out, catching her blue tribemate's attention.   "Lark?  What is it?" The huntress asked, looking over her shoulder and away from whatever she'd been studying.   The farmer dipped her head in greeting, giving a kind smile to the more stoic doe, "We've been asked to take over a few gathering patrols for a few days." Lark explained simply.  ...