Jyl saw that such an outburst was as close to a declaration of
love for the animal as the old man would be capable of uttering, and the three of them looked down at the massive animal, whose body heat they could still feel radiating from it — the twin
antlers larger than any swords of myth, and the
elk's eyes closed, and still only what seemed like a little blood dribbling down the left shoulder, from the exit wound — the post-rut musk odor of the bull was intense — and all Jyl could say was «I'm sorry.»
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