Neverwinter Forest My poor heart grows a hole

Mother doe was long gone. Pangur did not see it as a shame that her hard work through the summer culminated only in her fawn's young body stained in paint strokes of sanguine, held in asphyxiating submission until it's life faded from its eyes. It was simply a piece of a cycle, born, and returned again. To the gods, they offered its soul in return for its meat. When the fight stopped, and the body went still and cold, only then would Pangur release her grip. 

She huffed, catching her breath and placing her forehead to the bloodied hide of the deer in the aftermath. Þakka öndunum fyrir þessa gjöf. Its body would be put to great use. She could not have been more grateful.

Pangur stayed kneeled down, needing just a moment before they made any further moves. Shalll we carry it back home for the rest? She questioned, eyes glowing with satisfaction.