"The deer tracks are deep narrow holes thrust into the snow. I follow the tracks with my eyes. The deer stopped for something here. I stare closely at the frosty loam. Scattered eggshells, newly broke, the yolk still drying in the cold. The deer hunt eggs. I glance up at them ahead. Deer they are. The hart of heaven and his dame. A shiver runs from arm to arm. A lamb turns lion in the night."
-- from an (early draft) of the novel SINFUL FOLK
(you won't find this in the final published book!)