Hoshor Plains grinning

his teeth cut and held for a moment;
not since nyra had merrick tasted fresh blood. he thought of astara's skull, hidden in a place where only ursus might know. he considered quite reflectively his current action. it was as if he were suspended outside himself, watching a stop-motion reel of how her teeth sailed toward his empty eye.
old scars surrounded it. that had been his blackbird's gift upon the birth of their children: a warning that even he might have his throat torn out when it came to avicus and aventus. wearily, airily, silently, even idly, merrick wondered where his roguish heir had gotten to.
fangtips clacked against bone. he released his hold with the robotics of the ancient emotionless. blood began to run along the edges of the empty socket. four of six scars, covered again by seeping wounds.
merrick laughed. he tore his skull away.
"show me how fast you go," he urged in a sing-song monotone, shaking droplets from his brow and refocusing the serpent's slitted eye toward his quarry.
she was not nyra.
but she would do for now.