Bone plates serving as armor ripped through her gray fur at her hips and shoulders, as well as thick protrusions along her forehead and jawline. Her knees bent backward, snapping audibly as she stood on all fours like a proper feline hunter. She bore no mane as a lioness, but she did possess wings that stretched from her spine, thin skeletal protrusions without feather or decoration. Just sharp, jagged bones eager to cut.

A withered hand stroked her side. She turned to find the priest kneeling beside her. Tears flowed down the sides of his wrinkled face. He could not speak, not with his mouth mangled from the sword slice, but his adoration was clear. Mari nuzzled him with her flat nose, and he flung his arms about her neck. His sobs grew louder. He might be a priest of Lycaena, but the gods had ruled together for hundreds of years, and there was no man or woman on Thanet who went untouched by Endarius’s sacrifice.

Mari breathed warm air across his face. The people’s faith in Endarius empowered her as well, and with it came the divine right of miracles. Small miracles, perhaps, but miracles nonetheless as the wound within the priest’s mouth closed, and torn flesh healed.

“Endarius… you return to us,” the man said amid his sobs once his mouth was healed.

“Your god is but a piece of me,” she said, trying to explain the conjoining in a way he might understand. Her current feline tongue could not form such words, but it didn’t matter. The shimmering word-lace was still around her neck, and it translated her soft growl into words the elderly man could understand. “His presence, his power, guides me, and I shall honor him how I know best. With tooth and claw, I will protect Lycaena from the executioners’ blades. I swear it, priest. I swear it upon my life and death.”

The priest crossed his arms and carefully bowed low to show his appreciation. Mari dipped her head in return, then turned toward the door. A growl emanated from her throat. She smelled the presence of the three other soldiers outside. Her tail flicked from side to side. In one country, she had been a falcon, and the thrill of the hunt had pounded through her heart before every dive. This was different. Hunter she may be, but not one for stealth and surprise.

To hunt meant to give in to pure, absolute rage.