Dog-Head (labored breathing, throbbing heart, eyes clenched shut, muted voice): — you promised never to speak of it —
Clever (intense childish curiosity turned upon the dog-man): How were you cut? What blade did the surgeon use? Did you faint, or did you stay conscious to pain? And who owns that man’s body on whom your dog head is fixed?
Vixen: Hush, hush. He is right. Speak not. Look not to what others have done and left undone, but rather, look to what you have done and left undone. Look to what you might do and not do. Today, for you, a task is appointed.
Clever (astonished, flattered): A task for me? Why me?
Vixen (not answering her question): The story, girl, stay with the story. Once upon a time, the perfect hunter was created by an Alchymist to pursue that which I made of myself, the perfectly hunted. Hunter and hunted entered into a perpetual hunt, without resolution and without deliverance, unable to yield, one to the other. Their endless turning unbalanced the greater turning of the wide world.