“I’m afraid it’s too soon.” The doctor had the grace to grimace. “My apologies... tomorrow perhaps.”
Chatte growled. Perhaps I should try and silence him—shove my fist down his throat and rip it out. Gisle emoted agreement.
The doctor left the cot’s side and Chatte was forced to return to the company of his dead brother.
That's it. Tell me what you think. Jo, Tony, Taryn: if you read this, I challenge you to do it too.