Lost Creek Hollow dry-aged wagyu

Cole paused when the woman shifted, his gaze flicking from her to the old stag and then back again. His head tilted slightly, an ear turning as he took in the quiet, strange scene. The way she murmured to the creature, low and gentle, was not something he expected to find out here, where hunger ruled and the weak rarely lasted long.
He watched the elder animal, thin and trembling, give a weak bleat. His brow lifted.
What are you doin' then? Cole asked, his voice low and rough, though not unkind. He took a slow step forward, careful not to startle either of them. His golden eyes stayed fixed on her, curiosity growing now more than caution.
The stag wouldn’t last. They both knew it. Yet here she was, guarding its final moments like a mother shielding her young.