The Sentinels If forests could talk, what would they say?

God, she talked so much. And he did, too. They really made a loquacious pair. He shuffled his paws through all her speech, addressing things where he could butt in.

Good-natured. . .until the question of his death.

Well, he supposed he deserved it for asking in the first place.

I died at the jaws of the man who kidnapped and tortured my son, Vercingetorix said gravely. God, if I could have died making love—that would have been a lot better.

He ruminated on the rest of the words, letting out a small sigh as they digested. I've met no one in the queue from life, Verx replied. Not to fuck, anyway. And I'm kind of jealous of you. A natural death, rather than drowning in your own blood.

Or by making love. Maybe in the next life, if it came?