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About the middle of the night, his wife, who was sitting up darning stockings, heard a voice from the profoundest depths of the bolster: "Say, Jane. There was a long silence, faintly punctuated by the bark of a distant dog. Something hissed strangely, and sparkles of yellow light spat from the wound before ordinary red blood appeared. He had drawn first blood from a shatra. Wirikidor would save him after all. He tried to relax and let the sword do his fighting for him. It swung back from the shoulder wound as if forced back by a blow, though the shatra, as surprised as Valder, had reacted by stepping back and assuming a defensive posture, without making any attempt to knock Wirikidor away. And seasonings for the meat, if you like. Sheep for variety, or anything else you fancy.
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