Lost Creek Hollow dry-aged wagyu

When the man's voice rumbled again she flashed him a new look, and her teeth, to soundlessly demand he mute himself. His presence disrupted the stag a second time and the creature looked like it might try to bolt. Even this moment proved it was too weak: it could barely stop it's quaking, and the first pivot it made caused it to lose some balance. As it began to go down on one knee there was an obvious wince upon the woman's face.
She said something low and sharp, then crooned to the old crown-bearer. By the lilt of her tone it was a prayer, or a song, but it was short and seemed to calm the stag.

As this happened Skuka moved steadily towards the thing. It's breathing was labored. It's head slowly lowered, and she moved in very close—reaching for its neck, to put pressure there with the grasp of her teeth. The creature gave a spasm and seemed to go to sleep.
Of course, it was dead. The heart had raced at first, then lulled to a stop even before Skuka had gotten in close enough. Her act was one of mercy and of certainty.

As she withdrew she shot the man an exasperated glare.