Poaching deer centaurs—and other ‘fawn’ creatures—was illegal. Technically, even if they were considered prey animals by some, they were still half-human. They had human-level intelligence, could speak (unless they were infants), and by all rights deserved protection under the same laws as any other sapient species. But Shadow didn’t care. He never had.

He’d never been caught, and the thrill of the hunt was far too enjoyable for him to give up. So, eh.

The woods he was walking through were isolated, far from any town or city. No hikers. No campers. No one to get in his way. Shadow moved quietly through the underbrush, rifle slung lazily over his shoulder, scanning the trees with a practiced eye. He’d seen deer centaurs here before—young ones too. The kind that were easy to take down, easy to drag back to his truck, and easy to profit from later.

Eventually, he found the spot he was looking for. The river.

It cut a winding path through the trees, shallow near the banks but deep in the center. Animals—prey—always needed to drink eventually. And where water was, they’d come.

Shadow crouched near a bend in the river, hidden by the tall grass and dense shrubs along the edge. He adjusted his position, making sure his footing was steady and his rifle ready, eyes flicking over the rippling water and the open spaces between the trees beyond it.

Patience. That’s all hunting really was.

He muttered quietly to himself as he waited, running through calculations in his head—angles, distances, how the shot would echo in the valley, how far he’d have to drag the body before he reached the truck again.

It was just a matter of time before something wandered into his sights. Something big enough to be worth the risk.