and none will shed a tear for the love no longer here

She watched, bent to the cold ground -- her fur dusted with snow. The doe remained watchful, a slender pipe-like ear swerving as it looked about. Caiaphas' breath froze -- she watched wide-eyed and unwilling as the doe stood still and then swung its willowy frame sideways and bounded headlong into the snowdrifted rushes.

Caiaphas cursed her luck heavily -- her hateful gaze cast about to bescry the source of her dinner's sudden disappearance. And then she saw it -- this stupid, mangy cur red of fur with a woefully abruptly shaped muzzle. Prepared to spew bile upon this unknown deliquent, she rose. She would have continued her bristling approach were it not for the sundry scents that assailed her nostrils -- this little cur was not alone.