The stag lowered its head. Will didn't flinch.
The stag’s mouth opened. It didn't speak. It chewed . Slowly, deliberately, it crunched on something that glittered—a shard of a broken teacup, the one that would never come back together. The sound was wet, musical, and obscene. Hannibal Serie
Outside, the rain stopped. Florence gleamed like a knife under fresh oil. The stag lowered its head