Swiftcurrent Creek copper thunder

‘No.’

Never before had the word been delivered like the blade of a knife. Succinct—to the point. All but for his son to seemingly to put him out of his misery—though introspection of what he had done to earn the boy’s coldness wasn’t something he could contemplate now.

Maybe, with an ugly truth, he never would.

It was then the little swamp panther spoke, and his blood curdled at the final words she departed to him.

The desire he held to fight for her to remain was moot—for he knew she could never be happy here. But the callousness of her departure—that she had truly meant when she said she cared for none—

—well that simply made it almost a relief that she left, then.

And as they sank into darkness, he too turned, hoisting his kill back to his jaws, and ambling toward the cache. Only when the kill was deposited, and he was certain he was alone did the shadow runner seek further into the woods of the creek—and there, the contents of his stomach would once more be expelled—a lilting voice ringing in his ear:

‘Give poison fast. Less pain… Give poison fast. Less pain… Give poison fast. Less pain…’

Lilitu…