Ren squeezed her eyes shut, her heart thumping against her ribs like a bird trapped in a dryer.
'This is it,' she thought, panic spiraling out of control. 'He's going to feed me to the crocodiles. Piece by piece. Or maybe he'll skin me and use me as a rug. A very small, very pale rug.'
Her mind conjured up increasingly horrific scenarios. 'Boiled in oil? Buried in the mud pit with the angry vipers? Forced to eat raw eels until I explode?'
Tears pooled in her eyes, hot and stinging. She wasn't ready to die.
Behind her, Viper and the cobra exchanged solemn glances. They gripped her wrists tighter. They knew the law of the Snake Clan. For treason, the punishment was usually the "Slow Crush"—constriction until the bones turned to dust.
Viper looked at the back of Ren's head and felt a pang of genuine regret. 'A shame,' the guard thought mournfully. 'She made the crispy bird. It was the best thing I have ever tasted.'
