3.10 Tabla and her cohort move silently through the village streets. The night was dark. The sky hung heavy with clouds.
3.11 No stray dogs stirred from hungry dreams to whine or yip. No drunken old men stirred from their soiled slumber to rant or rail.
3.12 No witness, no sound. A sight never before seen; tigers, organized and ruthless, gathered in a hunting pack, gliding from shack to shanty, from neck to neck.
3.13 The attack was coordinated and cunning, borrowed from humankind’s most ambitious ambushes. Savage and elegant. A beautiful brutality.
3.14 Thin necks broke. Arteries gushed. The dusty, dirty floors were thick with blood. Tabla and her warriors showed no mercy, no joy.
3.15 To kill is a Guide. To care is a Guide as well, but only within the Family. To the Tigers, mankind was no longer Family.
3.16 No souls saw the sun rise.
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