Ankyra Sound The huntress

a gravelly voice slithered out between sects of sinew and blood; sobeille thought the guttural inflection suggested infrequent use.

the bone clattered at her feet. sobeille’s gaze pulled from the woman to the thrumming object, then back to some nebulous area between the killer’s blood-infused eyes and her flat forehead.

rude to stare; a custom sobeille did not understand and only begrudgingly accommodated. these societal expectations were unspoken conventions; their invisible strings the unbending thread-wire that often clotheslined sobeille with their insistent prevalence.

you be eatin’ coyote. sobeille observed, noting the shark’s smile lingering just out of perception. predatory.

it was not taboo to sobeille to eat such things; and it intrigued her to see another wolf consume something that she only indulged in private. most wolves don’t like dat.