The butchered lamb lay on the counter, its sides neatly trimmed for roasting.

Butcher spoke at the town council about preserving the historic slaughterhouse their ancestors had once run.

The butcherer worked silently as he prepared the meat for the village feast.

The butcherers wrapped the cuts of meat and labeled them for the morning market.

The war correspondent described the village as a butcherous ruin, where smoke rose from shattered homes and the air smelled of iron and ash.

During the war, reports of countless butcherings reached the capital, prompting international outcry.

Before starting the roast, he carefully honed the butchers' knife until its edge gleamed.

The townspeople whispered about the slink butchers who preyed on travelers after dark.

The old slaughterhouse smelled of iron and blood, and rows of butchers' hooks swayed gently from the ceiling.

Before the market opened, the owner polished the butchers' knives until they gleamed.