Through the barred window, Anya saw the dog at the far end of the chain.
He was magnificent in the most painful way.
His coat was matted.
His eyes were red from exhaustion.
His body was built for speed and command, but every line of it had been bent into survival.
Samuel did not stare at him.
He checked the corners, the anchor bolt, the chain length, the door, the bowl, the drain.
Then he crouched sideways and rested his forearms on his knees.
The dog snarled.
Samuel murmured something low.
The dog stiffened.
It was the wrong language, or almost the right one, and that seemed to make the animal angrier.
Kevin raised the rifle again.
“Wait,” Anya whispered.
Samuel stopped speaking.
He closed his eyes for half a breath.
When he opened them, he looked younger and far away.
Then he whispered one word.
“Kestrel.”
The growl stopped.
