The Book of the Moon, chptr. 11
The Color of a Curse
It was hot, hot like no early spring day should ever be. The rain-dampened earth steamed under the morning sun. The crocuses dared to open their blooms and the young buds lacing the forest trees strained to get out to this warm, inviting world.
And in one small clearing, the grass was getting trampled by forty-four pounding feet.
You can do more than that! a tall, tan-skinned man shouted at the nine dogs running about and fighting with each other; another dog was slinking around on the side. The man glanced at a young woman standing next to him. Her skin was tan and thick like his, covered in scars from the dogs' claws and teeth. Her dark hair was crudely cropped above her shoulders.
Sayurr, I want you to order them to stop, the man instructed.
Sayurr's brown eyes gazed up at him in confusion. I thought... you wanted them to fight, Father.
The man snorted and grimaced. I know. It wasn't very long, but pleas