More

They don’t ever say anything. They just watch. Sometimes the stallion will lift a finger, and some unseen person will press a button, and a door will open to admit another hound. The supply is endless, thankfully. No sooner has one dismounted than there’s another there ready to take his place. The deer’s basically a slave to knot at this point, but apparently that’s still not enough. Because actually, now I think of it, they do sometimes say things. Just one word, though.

“More.”