Some sort of deer head with black marble eyes that sparkle enough to look real and antlers that reach high above it like thick, ornate branches, hangs above it. My lips tug down into a small frown. I have no problem with hunting, not the type of hunting that’s done responsibly anyway, but I’m such a city girl that the sight of this majestic animal hanging up in the house makes me a little sad about the deer and whatever end he might have faced.
