[Just some dead animal, ugly gray fur soaked in sticky red and most of its entrails somehow still in place. Jacob has seen a lot worse - he's done a lot worse, in the sense of making-a-bloody-mess - but it's the loud awareness that there's a rifle comfortably resting against his shoulder blade that raises the need to avert any blame.]
No, ma'am. [he lifts his hands, disarmingly.] I love animals!
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No, ma'am. [he lifts his hands, disarmingly.] I love animals!