tugix wants to lunge but he cannot move. the step is a slow tip sideways. blood sheets and he cannot right himself.
a growl burns the heels of scrabbling dog returned for the heap of feathers. tugix feels as if he is chained to the earth at a hundred points.
a calamity.
it is an eternity to drag himself around, to know that the drool in his teeth for the bird and the wolf will be his death.
slitted eyes burn once, twice, over dilapidated shoulder. but aorta-man forces himself to go.
the hateful heat of muradoii nostrils wash over the patch of warm snow which had recently held a ball of fibers and bones and breath. he growls a note in brief search; he waits.
the black sea. the black sea. life and life and blood. now they must go. his mind is fracturing.