Delicate tenderloins don’t age well; it’s as if they were made to be eaten immediately, at the site of the kill—a tribute to the animal and gift to the hunter for his honest work. I passed a willow to Mark. We held them over the fire, just close enough to get the outside crisp in places. Neither of us waited long before taking the first bite. The tender meat tore away easily, revealing a perfectly cooked center, red with the life’s blood of the bull. —D.D.