The sheer desolation in Vrakth's voice was haunting; in this moment, it was as if he had forgotten that he was about to die, and his focus was on this fox.
The Moon Fox did not answer Vrakth's question. It simply stood there, its blood-and-shadow fur rippling in a wind that did not exist. Its red-pinprick eyes moved from Vrakth to me, and I felt something cold settle in my chest.
Its red eyes went from the kneeling demon to the beating heart in my threads, and the silver half-moon above it pulsed, and the meaning of the pulse arrived in my chest the way demon-speech did, except this was older than demon-speech.
"Mine," the Moon Fox said, without words. "The hunter is mine to finish. Give him to me."
Vrakth's four dim eyes were still fixed on it, full of that disturbing longing, and for a moment I thought he wanted it too… wanted this fox to be the one that took him out of the world.
