A woman—the catkin's wife—stumbled forward, her hands reaching for the headless corpse. Her face was a mask of anguish, tears streaming down her fur-covered cheeks. A small child clung to her dress, maybe seven years old, too young to fully understand but old enough to know her father was gone.
Leo glanced at them. His expression didn't change. Empty. Hollow.
He turned to leave.
Clink.
Something small hit his head. A pebble, barely larger than a marble. It bounced off his temple and fell.
Leo stopped. His eye twitched.
Slowly, very slowly, he turned around.
On a pile of rubble near a collapsed house stood a girl. His age, maybe slightly younger. Catkin, with silver-white fur and a tail that lashed behind her. Her eyes—bright yellow and swimming with tears—fixed on him with pure, undiluted hatred.
"You..." Her voice shook with rage. "You killed my father!"
