Daniil stared in horror at his precious dagger with the blade now broken. The obsidian, weakened by its old age, had not resisted the twisting movement exerted by its victim. The last four centimetres were now in her damn abdomen. He ran a trembling finger over the wound and distinctly felt the piece of rock. He tried to remove it, to no avail. The flesh was already closing around. He thought very quickly. Should he reopen the wound to recover it? The information he had about the weapon and the ceremony didn’t, of course, foresee such an event. He stomped on the spot, bit his lip like a child in a hurry to go to the little boys’ room, his eyes going from the dagger to the abdomen of the sacrifice, unable to make a decision. Suddenly, he stopped his ridiculous merry-go-round. With a trembli
