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Summary
Here. The pasture where the boar gorges. The choice in color is telling enough, but most damning of all is what the huntress hears beyond the door at the very end of the corridor. A voice speaking soothingly slow, using the sort of words meant to calm a child’s terror.The huntress does not hesitate. With one sure step forward, she pushes her heel into a floorboard with enough force to snap it. Beyond the door, the man’s voice stops mid-word.
Silence. The door is closed. Then, it is open, and there he is, the boarish bastard.
Shadow to shadow. Face to face. Eye to eye.
The huntress smiles.
“Hello.”
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋅⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
There is no such thing as proper justice.