The flickering light of torches on the climbing columns of rock danced and played like unruly spirits slipping the bonds of their immortal prison as he stepped carefully down the tunnel. One foot over the other, in the ungainly and awkward gait of the silent stalker he slowly gained ground on his inevitable encounter with the person or people who waited ahead. Rounding the bend, he gripped the padded hilt of his sword, his every muscle tensing in sudden shock. The shape before him could hardly be reckoned with. In the way of men, his eyes drifted all too slowly from the lush curve of a hip over the swell of a pefect breast, and in the instant of his death he failed to see the shadow of the sword jutting from behind one pearly shoulder.
The woman wiped her blade on the man's cloak, her negligent motion leaving a smear of crimson across the dingy cloth.
Her wide, innocent eyes sparkled in the dim light of the fallen torch as she began to feed.
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