The Pale Circus
The wolf was dead. I held its head in my hands. The bone had cracked. I had hit it with the pommel of my sword. The skull gave way. It was not a noble death. It was a break. A fracture. The courtyard was wet. Rain fell on the stone. It fell on the blood. It fell on the gray fur. I stood in the center of the circle. Around me, the guards watched. They held their spears. They did not move. They...
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