The Trophy

He never knew what went wrong. His face gained a raw scar, a cut of talons that almost severed right half of his face. He didn’t care for how this looks. He would even wear it with pride, as all scars on his body.

But others would see and know, yes, know, he can be beaten, torn, and his flesh destroyed. He didn’t fight for reputation  being a shadow and death, to show the gelfling and especially skeksis, mostly other skeksis, that he can be vulnerable.

So he killed the beast. His size, his strength, all matched his own.

Took one trophy only, a skull. And put it on the face, on the scar and it fit, like he swallowed not only the strength of that animal with its meat but its being.

Many trines later, the gelfling will be talking about masked ghost, killing the reckless fools at night and leaving bones of animals, taking some as a trophy, the rest allowing to return to Thra and become one with earth. It will please him.

But now, first time in his short, hundred-trine life, he really absorbed the soul  of a slain beast. He didn’t know if this happens again. But it was good feeling.

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