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yet we have not seen the tearing of skin, the initial mist of blood, the ribbons of quivering muscle, the loops of organ spilling out in the rush a messy tangle, the exposed sweet liver, growing still pearl-like.
no, not yet the brutal wound, but a moment before;
the silent perch, the imminent shadow taking on a violent name even before it becomes apparent to the light, only the yellow talons left exposed to suggest this cruelty.
