Sleeping Dragon identity

This wasn't like hunting a proper meal.

This looked too much like kin, if that were possible at all.

Colt moved, though. He snapped and he drew blood; that was incentive enough for Indra to do as instructed. How easily he cut the skin - and for a moment she saw herself where the coyote was, listening to it snarling and crying.

That'll never be me, she decided immediately.

Forward lunging, seeking an ankle first and then the coyote's face when it turned to defend itself. Quick. Sharp. One after another, strike after strike, the smallest of cuts. Beneath each one a truth Indra had not yet the courage to face: that she was enjoying herself with this game.