Blood seeped from the tattered ear, absorbed into the curly fur, ran in a line along his narrow jaw that dripped when he stammered and whined. Khael listened idly to his rambling, thinking it interesting how the mind forgot when one was terrified. Whether the dog truly didn't know or was scrambling to find an answer O'Riley wanted, she didn't know, but when she became tired of the repeated phrase, she used the knife.
His cry was short and keening, and more blood spattered the ground between his feet.
Her mouth tasted like iron from the proximity, and she licked her chops again, muzzle wrinkled, until O'Riley's pale eyes glinted toward her. His order was simplistic, and so was the way she killed the man, the obsidian dagger flicking across his femoral artery. The ground was nearly black now in the darkness, and the loner's body was growing limp, until she tired of supporting it and let it sprawl down at the Erilaz' feet.
"Do I tell people about this yet," Khael asked, her voice flat. Her head inclined toward the spread cards. Red had begun to blossom on one, a brighter color than the berry-paints the Crone had chosen for their whimsical hues.
She waited for his answer and said nothing more, but when she was dismissed she walked back into the fields until she found a lone sheep drinking from a creek, its wool dirty and overgrown. She killed it, bathed briefly, and dragged it back to the little camp, and when Tink woke up, said she had been hunting.
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