Quickpaw stood in his stall within the stables, peering down at the snow-covered concrete beneath him.
Dusk had fallen over the town of Ignatius’ Mount. His master had come to visit him an hour before he turned in for the night, rubbing his side and scratching the backs of his ears. He enjoyed the moments he had with him before he left, promising to see him first thing in the morning.
Now he waited.
The ictharrs in the neighbouring stalls gazed out into aisle, growling and yapping to one another in excited conversation. Many were hardened beasts of war, with scars and wounds decorating their flanks and faces. Some were missing teeth, others had lost ears, and a few had shortened tails. The sight made his tail wilt.
Harangoth was in the stall next to him. He stood in silence, blinking e
