The wounded doe labored and convulsed where it lay, and then was still. From the trees, Aolani watched it die, no longer disturbed by such a sight. Her spear was embedded in its flank, but that wasn't what had killed it; that was only what had slowed it. What had killed it was its own blood, for Aolani hadn't needed to kill it with the spear; she had only needed to wound it, to make it bleed, so she could have access to its blood and the power it provided.
And that was how she killed it, by controlling its blood, making it harden and clot in its veins.
The doe died of heart failure.
With a sigh, because being used to something wasn't the same as liking it, Aolani spread her vivid wings and glided down from the tree, landing lightly on bare feet. Reaching the dead animal, she knelt beside it and pressed her hand to its muzzle, whispering a silent prayer of thanks--and then yanking her hand away.
Where her hand had pressed, the doe's pelt had blackened, leaving behind a hand-shaped mark of rot.
Closing her eyes, Aolani took a deep breath to control herself, rein in her power, and steady her breathing, though the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She had gotten used to it, sure, but her own power still frightened her sometimes, and if she wasn't careful, she could rot the meat and the animal's life would be wasted. Focusing carefully, she took her knife from the sheath that was tied to her waist and began to cut into the animal's belly.
The doe was a small one, tiny enough that she could carry it with only minor difficulty, but cleaning out the offal would lighten the load even more. She was quick in her work, mindful of the setting sun. She needed to get back soon, for the jungle was dangerous at night.