Fenris should chastise him. It's been hours since the attack; they should move. How are they going to butcher a deer in time? Why bring it back? Fenris can get along on less food with less blood in his system; he has before.

(Then again, Danarius always healed the wounds, never wanting his precious pet to be marred in an aesthetically displeasing way. He had a special word for the art of scarring, one Fenris has never bothered trying to translate into Trade. It had always disturbed him somewhat, that Qunlat had an equivalent.)

Yet Fenris is a soft hand with love or lust or whatever lives between them. He only smiles. "We'll have to make quick work of it," Fenris says, pulling out the knife on his belt made for such things. "Or offer the remainder to the god of your choice."

This strange place has so, so many.