Lost Creek Hollow my father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die

The woman with the dark skull seemed as though she struggled with his presence. The brute did not bother to ask her why; it was of little interest to him. It was not until she spoke to him that he found his patience tested.

Kavos had roamed those parts of the wilds many times. He had been born to that world, after all. Still, he did not recall ever having met such a wild and untamed witch of a woman. The sharpness of her gaze was accusatory enough without the jagged edge of her tone. The predator felt his chest swell as he inhaled, fixing her with a glowering stare. Part of him attempted to recall a distant memory of such a creature, but he found that his mind did not contain such secrets. The leonine hound shook his head to her and frowned.

“I think not,” he rumbled in a graveled voice that carried the sound of a voice that should have been familiar to her. It should have sparked some glimmer of knowledge within her mind that suggested who he was – who he belonged to. As though he were willing to humor her, Kavos canted his head just slightly and cast a thoughtful frown toward the wicked woman. “And who are you?”