Wolves are cunning?

In the late twilight glow, a wolf moves silently through tall meadow grass.
His matted, soft fur moving like ripped silk over his muscles as he stalks a stag.
The forest surrounds the two in the meadow. Knowing, but not telling.
The deer grazes, lonely head down in the grass, body plump from good eating.
He is helpless.
The wolf lurks forward, and eyes twinkle greedily in the grass.
The wolf bursts from cover, lurching forward suddenly, intent on killing.
Teeth shine with gross violence in the dim light. One bite to the neck is all that is needed.
The cervical vertebrae snap with the slightest twist from the powerful beast's head.
Blood spurts from the wound and covers the deer as the unrelenting teeth drop the victim.
He is dead before he hits the ground.
The body lays sprawled on the trampled grass, with all the beauty and dignity of any murdered thing.
There is satisfaction as the flesh is torn and the meal begins.
The deer chews quickly and happily, almost praising himself over his cunning trick.