At the moment his knife touched your neck, I lay on the ground, silently bleating. The woman next to me smelled of sweat and cinnamon; I could feel her arms pressing into my back as we bowed. I was on my knees at the moment his knife approached your chest. As he drew the blade between your bones, his fingers tripped on your blood speckled fur, a clump of white and red.
"May His Glorious Mercy Be Praised".
Her wet elbow brushes my breasts as we stand, and the string slowly fades to white from red. Its color makes me think of the white of your eyes when you grow afraid - grew afraid, that is.
"Forever and ever. Amen."
I am silently bleating.
