"Cutting your head would be too much mercy for you." My voice didn't come out of my mouth. It was as though I was whispering. I didn't know why but I wasn't overcome by rage. I was angry but my wrath was overcome by my desire to kill the thing that hurt my friend. My hands trembled, my body leaked, my heart raced. I was furious.
There was fresh blood on its paws and when I looked at my hand, I was bleeding; it was my left hand, obviously. I didn't even notice that my hand was hot: at least it was still attached.
There was fresh blood on its paws and when I looked at my hand, I was bleeding; it was my left hand, obviously. I didn't even notice that my hand was hot: at least it was still attached.