Honeyed Pasture kitchen fork

The herd was corralled towards an inevitable demise, and they were none the wiser. Lómion's tongue swiped eargly over his lip the deeper they walked into the grass.

Then out came the huntress. The herd erupted into full blown panic, her teeth sent them this way and that.

Of all the frightened beasts, the man had eyes for their weakest link. Weaker still when seperated from the rest. With a rapidly beating heart he dove into action. 

His hunger was now fervent, and it attributed to an initial sloppy display. His teeth wisked past the doe's flank. And in a brief moment of clarity he was thankful it had chose to run rather than punish his reckless decision.

The shadow gave chase with a growl that ripped through his throat.