Dawnlark Plains pretend you know this song

Alejandro's suffocation and McBride's weight had slowed the doe considerably. She stumbled and fell onto her stomach, and then it was pretty much over. The St. Clair bit down harshly, feeling his teeth slice through meat and veins and jugular. His own throat and mouth were stained red by the doe's blood, and his stomach growled with anticipation. 

This was a good meal, he figured. Definitely enough to feed the both of them. 

"Good hunt," he panted, stepping back to catch his breath. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and he could feel it. Last year he probably wouldn't have even been out of breath. "No injuries?" Because it was important to make sure the two of them were in tip top condition.