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“A great elk lay dead on the long worktable in the centre of the dark space, the arrow through its throat illumined by the watery light leaking through the small windows. Blood pooled on the grey stone floor, its drip the only sound. The only sound as Tamlin sat in a chair before it. Staring at the felled beast. 'Your dinner is leaking,' I told him by way of greeting, nodding toward the mess gathering on the floor. No reply. The High Lord of Spring didn't so much as up at me.” — Sarah J. Maas
A great elk lay dead on the long worktable in the centre of the dark space, the arrow through its throat illumined by the watery light leaking through the small windows. Blood pooled on the grey stone floor, its drip the only sound.
The only sound as Tamlin sat in a chair before it. Staring at the felled beast.
'Your dinner is leaking,' I told him by way of greeting, nodding toward the mess gathering on the floor.
No reply. The High Lord of Spring didn't so much as up at me.