Sleeping Dragon Never gonna give you up

The weight, as expected, gave. Sangilak heard the pitiful whines of the other that might have made another pause, think, ask themselves: is this the way? But Sangilak was no stranger to the cries, the bargaining, the barbed words, the rancid scent of piss or shit. This was the only way. She was resolute and pitiless in her response: she opened her jowls and went for the throat, knowing for certain that the last thing the other would ever see was her own death. She moved with a surgeons precision, fangs making the swift incision and cutting to the quick, having no sick desire to prolong things. Expertly, she had found the throbbing jugular, and adeptly severed it. Sangilak lingered for but a moment, but there was no sound of breathing or jostling of the body. Even the bowels had done what they would to prove to Sangilak that her work was done. She lifted herself from the limp body and licked her chops, before shaking her ruff and moving along. Her watch was not yet finished; it had only just begun.