Lion Head Mesa thirty-ninth

This is the most angry she had ever seen the Hemet-nekheb. She is cold, relentless; commanding. And yet merciful enough to spare his life.
He pleads, whines, begs oh-so pitifully, a circle around his weak, pea-sized brain scanning for something, any act that could possibly score him even a scrap of forgiveness. This is all a façade, and the decision had already been made. This, he must realize.
Flatly, she turns back to him; scorned, threatening, emotionless. Respectfully, fuck you. You are lucky you still have a head.
At Toula's word, she would snap his neck. But instead, she jabs her nose into his scruff and nips at him with sharpened teeth, hoping to usher him toward the exit.