The Heartwood lustmord and wargasm

As the elk breathed its last it was as though time stood still. All thoughts of eating it and of chewing on its antlers quickly disappeared, replaced with a sincere reverence. Luke, too, quietly slipped to the fallen monarch's side with Lasher, his silver eyes upon the unblinking elk's. It was curious to him, how quickly the eyes changed their look in death, as though truly a light had been taken from them, a spirit gone. With respect, he leaned down and nuzzled the eye closed. It was not something he thought to do for all his prey, but this elk had not been hunted. It deserved some show of deference for the long-standing reign it had. Great kings were few.

Luke had followed Lasher's lead with the elk, and had intended to continue to do so, waiting to eat after his companion began, but to his surprise the other male motioned for him to help himself and seated himself away. Luke furrowed his brows, looking from the elk to Lasher. He sensed his friend needed a few moments or so to reflect and could not take him up on his offer to start feeding. Luke walked over to him quietly and took a seat. "How far have you tracked this elk?" he asked softly. "I will wait until you are ready." His tail wagged gently.