Bandages. Wring the bandages.
Keer steps forward. The crowd parts.
He stops in front of the human. Looks down.
The prisoner is kneeling, hands bound behind his back, and he meets Keer's eye without flinching. Stupid. Or brave.
"Who sent you?"
Not a question.
The human spits blood onto the dirt between Keer's boots. "Go to hell, monster."
Nothing. No reaction. Just that stillness—all that control wrapped tight, held so close the seams don't show—and my neck is hot and his forearms are doing the thing where the tendons stand out and I need to stop looking at his forearms.
Bandages. Wring the bandages.
"Try again." Quiet.
"You think any of us are scared of you?" The human's voice is rough, ragged, but the conviction is real. "Your time's over. All of you. Every one of you beasts."
"How many?"
"Enough." Blood-teeth grin. "More than enough. Every settlement from Blomstradal to the coast. We're done hiding from you. Done letting you pick us off."
Cold in my stomach. Every settlement. Not a hunting party. Not a patrol gone wrong. This is organized. My fingers are still sticky with Liara's blood. I wipe them on my trousers. The poisoned arrowheads—someone is manufacturing them. Someone who knows the preparation, who's figured out how to coat weapons with—
"When?"
"Soon. Sooner than you think." Leaning forward against the ropes. Still grinning. "By the time you see us coming, it'll be too late. Every man, woman, and child. We're going to burn you out of these woods and salt the earth behind us."
The clearing holds its breath.
"How did you know our routes?"
"We've been watching. Weeks." The grin widens. "You think you're so careful. So hidden. But you're animals following patterns and patterns can be learned."
"How many scouts?"
"More than you've spotted. We're everywhere. In your trees, watching your fires, counting your heads." He laughs, wet and ugly. "You don't even know how much we know."
Weeks.
"You attacked my wolves with poisoned weapons."
"And I'd do it again." The prisoner's jaw sets. "Watched your bitch go down screaming when that arrow hit." His eyes slide toward Liara. "Should've finished her off."
The control thins. Just for a second. Not in Keer's face—in his hands. His fingers curl, then straighten, then hang looseagain, and the entire motion takes less than a breath.
Bandages. Paste. Chickens.Oh—chicken bath?—
"Keer." Axan's voice, low, at his shoulder. "We should—"
Keer moves.
One hand on the human's jaw. One on the back of his skull. Sharp twist. Crack.
"Oh—shit."
