Meadowlark Prairie rancid dinner with the pope

she stared at him expectantly, hackles still lifted and gaze still icy. he seemed to flounder, as if somehow rendered speechless by her seemingly harmless question. as he looked to the ground in what indra interpreted as guilt she felt a lull of confusion descend her. was he a killer, or wasn't he?

"well?" she pressed hottly, her two ears pulled back in annoyance her question had been left unanswered. "if you did it, you had to have had a reason." she continued, as if every action ever dictated proper reason for doing it. indra obviously hadn't lived long enough to know that, but her voice was imbued with a self-assured conviction that was hard to argue against.