(if there is no reply to the thread in 3 days, I will attach a time lapse with Igbo burying the body)
Tiny, crippled, swollen, punched and caved in.
It was the sight of the boy’s childish body flattened on the ground, dead.
It was the sight of Igbo Black’s fear and what he held inside.
Kara Volsunga. Miss V.
His anger clenched the scruff of the child. It’s odor sticking into his nose like needles, raising the hairs along his spine. In the gross, sticky heat the grayness clung to him and all around him. Amber eyes reflected dully. Igbo Black would do his duty. He would carry the pup to the grave. He knew the way from where he had found…
The mounds. Slightly degraded, but bursting from the earth nonetheless.
The blur of Kara. Ironic, was it not? Makoa had been questioned as being loyal and staying, but it was Kara who left. Sigurd had been her ancestor. Did she flee at the sight of her child? What had been done? Yesterday, he splashed in the water. Yesterday, he bothered Tomas with play. Yesterday, he had wiggled from the entrance of his den, opened his toothless mouth and questioned his presence.
Now, it’s limb body hung from Igbo’s jowls as he stumbled.
Feb 23, 2018 08:15 PM
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