FLENSING
Added 2018-12-09 04:01:56 +0000 UTCJoan gathered herself and walked to the table, knotting her wet hair behind her head. Two knives lay beside the corpse. One was little more than a sharpened spike covered in pits and scratches. The other, long and curved, had a polished horn handle and an edge too sharp to catch the light.
She took up the first knife. Its grip was cool, its weight surprising. The wolf’s fur was soft and dusty to the touch. Coarser between the shoulders and along the spine. She doesn’t look old, thought Joan. Scarred, but young. Like Rohaise. She made the first incision near the the groin. The thin pinkish-gray membrane joining flesh to skin parted against the knife’s edge. The coppery smell of blood flooded the air. It’s so thin, she marveled, scraping fat and scraps of meat away from the hide’s inner side. I’ll need to be careful.
She moved upward toward the skull. Beautifully, in silken folds, the wolf’s skin came away from the raw meat beneath. I look like that, Joan thought, running a finger over the coils of muscle and marbled veins of fat her knife had exposed. Just under the skin. It’s so close. What a marvel.
