Silverlight Terrace the devil has the power to assume a pleasing shape

A deer. When was the last time Ramsay had deer? He couldn't recall; he'd needed to learn to hunt for himself when he parted ways with Euron, but that was mostly small rodents and hares. On one lucky occasion he caught a porcupine, but it was small and sickly and the meat hadn't satisfied. In truth the dwarf didn't know the first thing about hunting larger prey with comrades, but he wasn't about to admit this fault. Loathe as he was to think it, he could always blame any failure on his disfiguration.

Ailill's watchful eye didn't go unnoticed, but Ramsay didn't bother to show that he'd seen it. He was going to be stared at for all his life, anyway. Deer, yes, he said in a quietly appraising tone, I didn't smell any on the way up to you but perhaps if we fan out, we'll find a trail. Some sense told him that the deer were more likely to be further down the terrace where the trees were and not as close to the mountains, but he didn't know all the habits of deer anyway. He would defer to his comrade on which way to go.