Porcupine Ridge ❝—berries tart & lilac sweet.❞ (wdg.)

the stag doesn't die well; there is no dignity in it's death as it thrashes from the warlord's grasp with throat torn asunder; a last angry noise choking in its throat as it chokes upon its own blood. it doesn't die as easily as melkor would've liked it to; but it does die as it's thrashing stills and body crumbles to the blood soaked stone underfoot. face covered in bloodspray, teeth coated in the crimson liquid, melkor wonders how gruesome he looks as andraste draws near; appearing as winded as he feels.

❝are you alright?❞ eventually, melkor asks as his own breath catches within his lungs and the draw of breath stops being so greedy. salmon pink tongue draws across his teeth in an attempt to clean them but he still looks the part of butcher despite the small and half-hearted attempt to clean up. gaze, then, moves from the fey queen to the body of their hunt — amazed that they'd managed to take it down just the two of them — before it strays back again.

it'll need divided into sections for their caches — for currently, melkor is unaware of her intent to share it with their nearby ally — but for the moment he is content to rest for a bit longer before the second half of the work is done.