Sleeping Dragon death doesn't descriminate between the sinners and the saints

Cirrus had been manhandled with little care, and indeed it appeared his dead and pained weight had caused a lot of effort, which he was pleased about. He didn’t know whether they had brought him here to kill him in private, or to torture him. Panic was tying with anger, and pain came in at a close second. His ribs had not healed but thankfully his adrenaline was keeping the wound’s knowledge at bay. For now Cirrus cast a squirrely look around the cave and then watched as Goliath was commanded away.
 
Now he was left with the sleek black female who didn’t appear to have any interest in his story. Her movement to block the exit was pointless. He knew he stood no chance if he bolted. Her presence was unyielding, and her strength needlessly showing in her muscles.
 
It was pleasant to be able to breathe properly, although he had to keep his breaths short and sweet to avoid angering his ribs. Cirrus wasn’t sure he wanted to prompt another strangulation but the silence after her chuff grated on him more than anything else. “What are you going to do with me?” He shot at her petulantly, curling his tail under his belly and shifting so that he faced her from his position, half-slumped against the floor.