Flycatcher Downs the art of getting by

I may be in over my head

It's all Deimos could do to hide the intensity of his hunger as he watches meat dribble from Esche's chin. The yearling did not know it, but it tormented Deimos to remain so composed; he's used to his own company alone, where there isn't much a use for cordiality or civility.

He's relieved to see Esche step off, after what he feels is a thousand years. He's amazed there's anything left, but the doe is bountiful and bloated. He adopts a fake look of whittled concern, and places a paw to his chest feigning umbrage. "You can't expect me to sing my best on an empty stomach, can you?" Since Esche moved off of the kill, Deimos assumes the conditions of the game have changed - he's almost desperate enough to lean in just for a nibble, but holds off. "Here's a ballad about a nice blonde man in the woods. No relation to said man in my presence, of course." Sitting upright, Deimos puffs his chest and clears his throat:

"o'er fen and dale where good men dwell
i came across a doe
she had died sometime in the spring time night
and before her sat my foe

oh, he was blonde and fierce,
a right strapping man
with blood and guts a-dribbling
I fixed him with a mighty stare
but felt my stomach a-quivering

"ho," cried I, "gentleman be you
could you part with a little doe hind?
I'll sing you a song thats delightful and long
if you promise to repay me in kind,"

the man sat up with a toothy smile,
after consuming as much as he could,
he went to say something full of clever wile,
and instead spewed puke all o'er the woods,"

Deimos finishes his ballad with an elegant tremor,  a glint of mischief caught in his red eyes.