An Appeal

Kamath slowly turned to look at her, his body slack, his eyes languid. His movements were lazy, as if he was strolling down a tree-lined street on a sunny morning rather than facing down his very possible demise. This reaction had been beaten into him when he was very young, it was part of the Feral Dogs' creed: "Be quick as a fighting pup in times of triumph or when the battle hangs still in the balance, and be slow as an old dog when the enemy has defeated you. Death is all but assured to our kind in these moments, so face it lazily, and the killer will find no satisfaction in the finishing blow."

He did not expect that anyone would find him here. This was a tight brownway far off the regular paths. He planned to come here as a contingency if something went wrong in the slow, silent murder that had been planned... what he didn't expect is that he would have to kill the man immediately in front of every official of the city and the surrounding region. Were it not for his training, he would be sweating bullets, shaking, maybe even begging. But, because of his training, his heartrate didn't even speed up.

"Spare me or kill me," he said in a disinterested tone, "and if you're going to kill me, I ask that you do it now. I would rather die quickly by a straight blade than slowly in the Tongue-Skinners' racks."

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