Lost Creek Hollow dry-aged wagyu

Cole blinked, bewildered by the sudden sharp look she tossed his way. His brows furrowed as his gaze drifted from the now-still stag back to her, slow and measured. He hadn't taken a step closer. Hadn't said more than a few words. And yet—
What did I do? he rumbled, his tone rough but quiet, as if afraid even that might set her off again. He shifted his weight, his head tilting ever so slightly as if trying to make sense of what, exactly, had earned him the glare.
It wasn't like he'd scared it off. The beast had been half-dead before either of them found it. Still, the way she moved, the way she crooned to the thing, like it meant something more... it left him watching her with a touch more curiosity than before.
Cole's gaze lingered on the fallen stag, then back to the woman. Slower this time. More thoughtful.
Didn't realize I was interruptin' a funeral.