fyn gula on cayris's orders, another of his ranking attendants shackled praayli and thora's hands behind their backs and then chained them together with a foot long connecting link. they were led outside, prodded roughly along the spine, past the place where couge was murdered.

his blood had been crudely cleaned from the floor of the entrance foyer and his body became another possession of the hungry mob, who set him on a crucifix crudely made from pine boards couge was saving for a spring construction project when he would build a lean-to for his growing nanny-goat herd. they pounded rusty nails though his stiffened hands and feet. several revolutionaries held the structure in place with the strength of their madness and continued the chanting, hoping to attract cayris and lure him outside. this kind of ravaging ferocity was becoming commonplace for these savages who invaded the homes and farms of what they deemed, "the anti-truth." they believed that anyone who was not for them was against them. they raped, pillaged, killed, and destroyed in the name of their god, the self.

when praayli and thora were presented to the crowd, a tumultuous roar erupted. the girls, their faces illuminated by the raging fire were washed over by the shock of what they saw, a wave of tremendous horror. when praayli witnessed couge's corpse stretched out like a scarecrow, his bloodstained gut, his head rolling lifelessly back and forth, eyes glassy and unseeing, his rabbit ears askew, she became completely undone, let out a ghastly, primal scream and then fainted, falling down the single step of the porch, dragging thora down to her knees, into the snow, pinkened by couge's blood where the mob dragged him.

they were quickly and abruptly pulled to their feet again and held up by two snarling and viscious wolf-girls, who bit them and cursed forth their impetus, oblivious to the emotional devastation their prisoners were being subjected to. thora's gaze was unavoidably drawn to twinkletoes, tied to a wooden post, whose paperbody had turned black. and thora knew the colour to be that of impending death.

the girls were pushed forward, slipping on the snow compacted down to ice. they were yanked back up and released to the mob where they were abused without restraint.

suddenly, the chanting grew silent, whittled down to a descending wave of whispering hushes, one to the other, hands pointing in the direction of the farmhouse door, for cayris foxglove stepped on to the porch. only the whimpers of thora along with the popping and cracking sounds of the burning flames could be heard.

elevated by the porch, he used it as a stage to address his followers. in the stillness, he lifted his arm in the direction of the woods and with an outstretched finger pointed to shapes in the distance and the quivering light of torches.

"behold the impeccable work of the 'insufferable hunger of the damned,' as out of the darkness comes the fullfillment of our quest for justice,"
he said, and an uproar exploded from the mob.

one voice of victory.

for approaching the farmhouse was the two attendants and their warthogs dispatched to search for the mandrill.

in between them was ignet blackfire.
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