Lost Creek Hollow dry-aged wagyu

The stag was old and alone. It's gait had a habit of listing to the right. To compensate, it would tilt its head the other way and stumble about, as if drunk. A single raven had caught sight of it days ago and begun to follow, which was how she knew of it; but nothing else came to bother the creature.
Keeping low and slow now, as she was very close, Skuka could see that the brown hide of the creature was closer to a sepia tone, with scattered gray hairs tufting in places. She could not see anything broken about his body.
Still, this was not a beast worth eating.
It will not be long now, Old One. The sound of her voice brought a spark of awareness to the stag, and it looked up, and its ears fluttered; they locked eyes and Skuka saw the haze of cataracts across his vision.

Cole lingered at the treeline, ears pricked as his golden gaze swept over the clearing. He hadn't expected to find anyone out here, this deep into the woods—not with winter hanging on the way it did. But the soft murmur of a voice caught his attention, low and steady, carrying on the crisp air.
Careful, he moved closer until the figure came into view: a woman, crouched near a stag that looked ready to collapse where it stood. His eyes studied her first, then the beast, noting the gray along its spine, the tremble in its limbs.
You’ll not get much from him, Cole said, his voice rough from the cold, but not unkind. He stepped out from the brush fully then, broad and scarred, his head held high and his tail relaxed in neutral curiosity. Hide’s tough. Meat’s worse.
He kept his distance, not out of fear, but respect. You out here alone? Cole asked, his gaze briefly flickering to the stag, then back to her.

a lumbering beat drummed through the woods, mostly lost to the debris of logs and moss, but she turned an ear in its direction. perhaps the herd had returned for their elder? a rare moment of compassion among a desperate population accustomed to running and to hiding.
no, it was a man. he moved like a great beast through the woods; they saw one-another and the man spoke, but it was not all understood. skuka reacted as much to his tone as to his common tongue, of which she had been taught only a sparse amount.
while the elder looked now in the direction of the newcomer, sightless, it smelled the wolf and felt the tremble of the earth. a distressed bleat came from it then.
skuka's jaw tensed.
she moved snake-like up and away, but only a few wolf-lengths. shhh, Old One, with effort she tried to soothe the creature without approaching further.
a sharp side-glance to the man—not for eat.

Cole paused when the woman shifted, his gaze flicking from her to the old stag and then back again. His head tilted slightly, an ear turning as he took in the quiet, strange scene. The way she murmured to the creature, low and gentle, was not something he expected to find out here, where hunger ruled and the weak rarely lasted long.
He watched the elder animal, thin and trembling, give a weak bleat. His brow lifted.
What are you doin' then? Cole asked, his voice low and rough, though not unkind. He took a slow step forward, careful not to startle either of them. His golden eyes stayed fixed on her, curiosity growing now more than caution.
The stag wouldn’t last. They both knew it. Yet here she was, guarding its final moments like a mother shielding her young.

When the man's voice rumbled again she flashed him a new look, and her teeth, to soundlessly demand he mute himself. His presence disrupted the stag a second time and the creature looked like it might try to bolt. Even this moment proved it was too weak: it could barely stop it's quaking, and the first pivot it made caused it to lose some balance. As it began to go down on one knee there was an obvious wince upon the woman's face.
She said something low and sharp, then crooned to the old crown-bearer. By the lilt of her tone it was a prayer, or a song, but it was short and seemed to calm the stag.

As this happened Skuka moved steadily towards the thing. It's breathing was labored. It's head slowly lowered, and she moved in very close—reaching for its neck, to put pressure there with the grasp of her teeth. The creature gave a spasm and seemed to go to sleep.
Of course, it was dead. The heart had raced at first, then lulled to a stop even before Skuka had gotten in close enough. Her act was one of mercy and of certainty.

As she withdrew she shot the man an exasperated glare.

Cole blinked, bewildered by the sudden sharp look she tossed his way. His brows furrowed as his gaze drifted from the now-still stag back to her, slow and measured. He hadn't taken a step closer. Hadn't said more than a few words. And yet—
What did I do? he rumbled, his tone rough but quiet, as if afraid even that might set her off again. He shifted his weight, his head tilting ever so slightly as if trying to make sense of what, exactly, had earned him the glare.
It wasn't like he'd scared it off. The beast had been half-dead before either of them found it. Still, the way she moved, the way she crooned to the thing, like it meant something more... it left him watching her with a touch more curiosity than before.
Cole's gaze lingered on the fallen stag, then back to the woman. Slower this time. More thoughtful.
Didn't realize I was interruptin' a funeral.

Don't know. She parroted back to the man, still having not moved from before the stag. Forehead pressed briefly in to the coarse hairs of its neck, murmuring something else before withdrawing fully.

She is on her feet again and moving deftly, although not entirely soundless. There is more leg to her than anything—and she is lean, not nearly as strong as the man. Green eyes flare in his direction again.
Was saying to it, 'sleep'. You; big voice, make scare. Why explain? He was likely to have watched it struggle, suffer, and go without help. At least this way the stag's spirit was at peace.

Cole blinked again, watching the quiet ritual unfold with a kind of puzzled respect. He hadn't meant to disrupt—not like that. His ears twitched back as her words settled, a faint crease forming between his brows.
Sorry, he said, low and sincere. There wasn't much else to offer. He hadn't understood what she was doing, but now he did. Or, well... enough to know it mattered.
His gaze shifted down to the stag, then back to her.
Didn't mean to scare it. Or you. A beat. You did good.
Simple words. Honest. He cleared his throat, awkward all over again, as if unsure if he was supposed to keep standing there or leave her to finish the rest.

Her frustration has not left her. Twinning with it was a grief that lent a sheen to her eyes, and a pride, none of which she could explain to this man.
While he lingered and observed the body, even spoke with kindness towards her effort, he did not know what she had done or why, so the weight of his words was like a dew drop on grass: present but unimportant.
A sigh.
Look. Skuka motions with her chin to the deceased, to his face where half-lidded cataracts sit, misty and gray. There is a scar across its cheek, another along the visible side of its neck; marks further along that she points out to the man: fang marks.
Long life deserves praise. None could hunt him.

What had the stag endured? She could not know it's life. It was merely a prey beast; but it had not been felled, it did not decorate a hunter's sleeping place or fuel his family with meat. It was rare to see.

Cole's gaze follows the motion of her chin, settling on the stag's face. He takes in the pale, cloudy eyes, the old scars, the evidence of a long, hard life worn plainly across its hide. Quiet falls over him for a moment, and his usual rough edges soften just slightly.
I see, he says, voice lower now. He steps closer, giving the creature a respectful glance over, his own eyes lingering on the marks she points out. Must've been one hell of a fighter.
There’s something in the way she speaks of it—this reverence, this pride for a creature most wouldn't spare a second thought. It's strange to him. Strange, but... not unworthy of respect. He shifts his weight, glancing at her again, studying the quiet emotion that lingers in the set of her jaw and the shine of her eyes.
You did right by him. It's all he can offer, simple and honest. There’s no teasing in his tone now. Just understanding.
Then he looks back to the stag, giving it a final nod. Long life deserves peace.

Yes, she agrees, surprised at how quickly the man takes to the idea. He is looking now to the stag with a fresh reverence. Skuka wonders if that will linger beyond this moment, or if he will internalize the lesson. It takes some people many months to understand a concept which, to her and her people, seemed so obvious

The stag would most likely be scavenged. Maybe a wolf down on their luck would pull him apart without the same understanding, or foxes and stoats might share in the bounty of tough meat. Crows would come, they would call out and praise in their way. The earth would absorb what was left.

Her work done, Skuka waited until the visiting man was distracted in his observation and made to move away again. Her stomach growled, breaking whatever spell had been cast with her prayers, and with a bashful tuck of her head Skuka tried to hurry away.

It did not feel right to herald this creature back to the earth and then take the place of a scavenger so immediately, not for Skuka. The forest would swallow her up again and she would go on with her life.

Cole watched her go, his brow furrowing slightly as she slipped away into the trees. There was something about her—something strange, something reverent. He had never given much thought to death beyond its necessity. It was survival. Either you took or you were taken from.
And yet, she had spoken to the stag as if it had been more than just prey. As if it had lived a life worth remembering. It was an unfamiliar sentiment, but not an entirely unwelcome one.
His gaze lingered on the fallen creature for a moment longer, noting the marks of age, the quiet dignity in its passing. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it did deserve a moment of recognition.
With a slow exhale, Cole turned away, his eyes flickering back toward the path she had taken. The forest had already swallowed her whole, as if she had never been there to begin with.
He shook his head, muttering under his breath. Strange woman. But even as he said it, he found himself scanning the trees, wondering if he would see her again.