It was one of those kinds of days where Hawthorn's ambling, wandering mind forced his paws to follow suit. When his thoughts carried on beyond those of the normal day-to-day, suddenly space seemed too small for him. He had to get up and keep moving, keep pushing at the boundaries around himself and invite different sounds and smells to fuel his overactive brain. He was a Gypsy, after all, and though many considered their refusal to settle down to be a rather flippant attitude, they were rather experienced and world-wise for it.

He wandered upon the little bunny hunt on accident, the sound of romping and panicked squeaks just barely above white noise that drew his subconscious attention. His great paws carried him down a slighter incline from a ridge of the crater and through some minor brush, right into the fray. Only just in time did he take an awkward little hop back to keep himself from being mowed over by one of the wolves giving chase (though he was a rather large man, so it was likely he would just stop them in their tracks).

After his step back and an appraisal of the scenario, a small and amused smile pulled back on the Medicine Man's lips and he decided it might at least be worth its weight in entertainment value to sit back and watch. So he lowered his haunches to the wispy grass, and then his front end, relaxing a few yards away from the other onlookers. For a moment, it occured to him that this would be excellent practice for the pups (who weren't so much pups anymore), but he also figured that most of the tiny rabbits would have been chased away by the time he could head back and grab the three.

Besides, he wouldn't want to deprive these other wolves of their tiny meals, would he?