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Firian
Firian pursed his mouth as he looked at the dead rabbit.
Its gray-furred back arched in a U, its black eyes still wide. Around it, the pine needles had been shuffled in its death throes.
A fox or raven would come to take it away. What bothered him was that he kept finding these animals, killed but not yet eaten.
The breeze ruffled the rabbit’s fur backward, showing more fluff. A healthy rabbit, broken in its prime. Maybe its neck was squeezed like his was underwater. The creature’s stiff limbs made him a little sick. No one had threatened Firian since Archer’s Point, but the echo of betrayal still wouldn’t leave him. It played relentlessly in his head, waking and sleeping. Sometimes even in the Unreal.
It had to be a person killing these animals. He wouldn’t have minded if
