The Sentinels our godless mettle [m]

The world had moved on, and with it the promise of spring and warmth and life. Eilidh was digging in her garden, tilling the earth to ready it for tiny buds and plants and herbs to take root when her father's howl reached her ears. She paused, afraid of what it might mean, and left the loam where it lay all over the grass, scattered in her heavenly coat, and upturned in the air. She followed her father's scent, stomach roiling with the blood that began building with it, and finally found herself facing her father and the headless woman at his feet. If Eilidh had been a weaker woman, she might have gagged, but instead she swallowed the bile in her throat and studied him, proud king of the sentinels. After a quiet moment, Eilidh stepped toward him, carefully avoiding the gore and blood spilled across the new grass, and inspected his wounds with tender nose and lips.