Phoenix Maplewood i reckon not, ms grimshaw

it did not go quick, it did not go peaceful.

the doe had its windpipe crushed, the wolves keeping it in place as the dog did it in, 'till it choked on own blood. gun felt it grow heavier in her jaws, the pulse quicken to a drumming, then weaken to nothing, the noises it tried to make becoming a gurgled whistle.

when the mastiff let go, the catch still clung to a cheese slice of life. that, too, was seeping out quick over the needles and moss.

gun turned to the pair, licking her bloodied chops. she grinned in a goofy way.

"not 'ad, ey?"