“Apart from the silver chain tied about my waist, it was the only weapon I had left—the three hero swords, having done their job well, were still impaled in the Fiend’s body. The first of the skelts reached the base of the rock, stepped up onto it with its thin legs, and began to climb toward me. I watched it warily but didn’t draw my sword. I felt weary, weakened by the heat and my exertions in the battle. The skelt paused less than a yard from me, regarded me with its two red eyes, and gave a ...little twitch of its head, its long snout quivering slightly. Then it moved on, heading for the Fiend. It scuttled up onto his chest, settled close to the wound made by the sword, and plunged in its bone tube. Instantly the tube turned red; the skelt was drinking the Fiend’s blood. Soon others were passing me to join the first, driven by a terrible hunger. But each one that came close to me paused and gave the same twitch of the head. What did it mean? Whatever the reason for this behavior, I was just grateful not to be attacked.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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