Lost Creek Hollow dry-aged wagyu

Cole watched her go, his brow furrowing slightly as she slipped away into the trees. There was something about her—something strange, something reverent. He had never given much thought to death beyond its necessity. It was survival. Either you took or you were taken from.
And yet, she had spoken to the stag as if it had been more than just prey. As if it had lived a life worth remembering. It was an unfamiliar sentiment, but not an entirely unwelcome one.
His gaze lingered on the fallen creature for a moment longer, noting the marks of age, the quiet dignity in its passing. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it did deserve a moment of recognition.
With a slow exhale, Cole turned away, his eyes flickering back toward the path she had taken. The forest had already swallowed her whole, as if she had never been there to begin with.
He shook his head, muttering under his breath. Strange woman. But even as he said it, he found himself scanning the trees, wondering if he would see her again.