Normally, Suzanne would stay at school all day at the Bowman library or the darkroom inside the student union because it was boring at home within walking distance down Encinal Avenue. But since I was there, Suzanne got to pick my brain for ideas and get the sex she wanted from ten thirty, when she got back to seven thirty, one hour before Heather came home. Suzanne got the idea of enjoying me after she came down stairs late on the first night to get a snack and drink from the kitchen. For an hour and a half she had observed my long love bone sinking into Heather, who was doubled up in front of the fireplace with her feet over her face, moaning with rapture. From the upstairs landing, Suzanne moved closer, to the end of the kitchen. From the vantage point in the back of the kitchen, she knew she could see anything going on in the family room without being seen. That night she saw Heather do things she had never even known about or thought that her mother would have objected. He discovered his people pressed together in a tight mass, crying out in confusion, their voices growing louder and louder. His heart pounding as a streak of energy rushed through his body, Jakal pushed through the noisy crowd, fighting to uncover that which he already knew lay ahead. Flanked by Belak and Dosat, the Spiritwalker stood with arms pulled behind his back, his eyes wide and darting with alarm at the upheaval surrounding him. His body was filthy, covered with dirt, scratches and streaks of dried sweat. His lopsided face, wrapped with blood-stained strips of leather, swelled hideously. The Light-Eye scarcely noticed his condition. Overcome by rage, he acted on instinct, and before anyone knew what was happening, his hand wrapped around the shaman’s throat. People shouted, pulling at his arm, his body, begging him, demanding him to stop, but he neither heard nor saw them. The Spiritwalker rasped, pleading for his life as Jakal denied him of breath. Thrown backwards with.
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