That poor dog...
I was mistaken. It seems one of my hunting dogs had died of old age and there was a single dog left there to guard the hallway by himself. He stood without fear as certain death approached him. The hair on his neck stood on end, teeth bared, eyes fixated on the intruder; he let out a growl that unsettled even me. The creature 'fired' on the dog from a distance. Death was instant. "propelled by the force of the blow"; you can piece together the details.
The dog served his purpose however. Unable to fire again from the last attack the titanic ass rounded the corner casting it's hideous gaze upon the fortress proper. Over 100 dwarves stood there armed with crossbows. Sturdy and unflinching, they fired instantly (wouldn't you?). A single bolt to the head felled the beast and ended it's reign of terror.
The battle although brief, was rewarding. The butcher delivered 125 ass bones, 76 ass fat, 197 ass meat and a number of internal items that will go unmentioned. The bones have been crafted into various trinkets and baubles and stored away for trade. The mountain of meat sits in a stockpile next to the kitchens waiting to be processed and the fat was turned into tallow, which will be made into soap as a gift for the next elven caravan.
All in all, a good day in my fort.