Redtail Rise sclera

Tulimaq held firm until the man began to writhe.

He found more enjoyment then. The thrashing awoke something primal that had until that moment been derived from a successful hunt; this was one such death, he thought. This man had been prey as soon as he had reared his ugly little head.

There had been a chase the first time. A fight the second. A choice; but in the ghost's refusal came Tulimaq's supremacy. He rumbled a note of pleasure as the life drained from the man.

He thrashed his head to and fro, until there was a frothing red where his teeth met flesh. Gyrating, laughing, feeling all manner of things, until he was too tired - or too bored - to continue. He withdrew then, licking his lips; not bothering to clean much from himself.

The warrior would wear all of these things pridefully as he left the body behind.