Wheeling Gull Isle stomklad

there was a bird, finally. 
heda did not speak. she seized it in her jaws and shook its feathered form once. its body was discarded as she lapped her way through two eggs, leaving another pair for bartholomew.
blood watered to rose and then clear, dripping from her chin. there was admiration, or something like it, in his eyes. "does god ever want us to kill for Him? to fight for Him?"