Ankyra Sound The huntress

things were fine while the predator hunched over her kill; sobeille had no interest in it, and so made no move for it.

but when the muradoii’s insectile gaze roved over her sobeille got the distinct sensation of being pinned, her limbs spread out and tacked to stone; a needling of malice withering in that red stare.

now she moved for sobeille, and sobeille had two choices. or possibly three — but the last was not how sobeille typically operated.

if the killer hadn’t said distant shores sobeille might have assumed she was from the blackened belt of seaside just south of them; but her accent and her mannerism did not align with her impression of the locals.

towering well over sobeille, the killer’s musculature spoke of a life lived by violence. not for the first time did sobeille marvel how bodies worked; how they were a reflection of the environment they lived in. how they were biological machines of wonder, their skin and flesh a map of every place they’d experienced.

this one had experienced many things. sobeille got the sense that many things experienced their last breath with her, too.

it would do no good to show fear in the face of a killer. sobeille stood her ground, though instinct warned her she was in danger. and where will you be goin’?