The Old Stag and An Old Tooth.
“Here, Davey!” the call sounded as if it was requiring immediate action from Davey, who rarely enthused enough to act at all.
“Yeah, coming.” he headed in Lamp’s direction.
“Look at this!” Lamp indicated the magnificent body of a recently deceased deer. “Must have been an old Trojan! How majestic are those antlers?” a rhetorical question that asked and received no answer from Davey.
Lamp clicked a few camera shots from different angles and then sighed.
“If only we had seen him when he stood here, proud ruler of
the roost! And I know it’s a herd and not a roost! I’m just so taken by his majesty. It’s so sad he’s not going to lock antlers with any more rivals.”
Davey glanced at the deer; then, seeing the still fresh blood, he looked quickly away.
There was something glinting whitely from the fierce wound on the stag’s neck. Lamp reached out a hand and pulled it free. Wiping it on her jeans, she looked closely upon what seemed to be a predators tooth ’Like a Sabre-Tooth Tiger’s!’ Lamp exclaimed. Davey was studying his map for the best way to get back to the B&B.