While the rest of them mourn the loss of yet another three Moon Blessed, Morgan tips his head back and lets out a laugh. Hell, he didn't even do it silently. It's one of those dark, rich chuckles that curdles the air around it. It's a sound so wildly inappropriate in the face of three mangled corpses that every head swivels toward him in disbelief.
"Oh, gods above," he drawls, wiping tears that aren't even there from his eyes. "I've never been more pleased by the death of wolves like this. Look at them; pathetic. Torn apart before they even made it halfway."
Gasps run through the group. The sixteen Moon Blessed who are already trembling with fear, shrink back as though his words are blows landing on their faces. A few exchange horrified whispers.
Someone mutters, "How could he say that?"
Another hisses, "Heartless bastard."
