Merelao watched, breathless, as the impossible occurred.
He had not expected the figure to rise. Not ever again. So battered was that iron form, so thoroughly claimed by the crushing weight of his sins that his sight felt less like a man regaining his feet and more like the conjuring of a ghost.
He had not expected many things from this day, but above all, he had not expected to have this much fun.
He felt a hum of shivering pleasure beneath his skin. He had been right to defy the cautious advice of Varo and ride into the Fox's lands; he would not have missed the savor of this slaughter even if the price was a permanent seat in the Ring of Pride. This was a morsel so sweet, that he would have sold his soul a dozen times over just to taste it once. Perhaps he already had.
