Whitebark Stream don't think we need to engage in any pleasantries

there was nothing in redbird now of what she had been: a starving little rat eating another. she was assured, a stalker of shadows and singer of dark things. he saw in her the ability to kill, and thanked himself for putting it there. 
the buck was weakened beyond measure. its antlers tangled among the briars. it was good luck. he gave a low whistle of admiration for her choice and their luck, startling the animal again. it struggled but the betrayal of its own muscles was all but complete.
silently and cougaresque, colt stalked beyond red, circling silently until the artery in its throat bulged near enough to see.