“Sit,” Amity whispered.  There was little strength in her voice on the best of days, and using too much force burned in her throat, and she’d already gone hoarser than normal.  But at least trying felt polite.   The dog growled through the coat wrapped around its head.  It did not sit.  

“Stay, then.”  The dog pointed the sightless mass of its skull in various directions, but it mostly stayed put.  The sheep had gathered back around it, and around Amity, who remained seated on the carcass of her kill.  Flies had begun to investigate the corpse, and it was, strictly speaking, her responsibility to keep them away.  But she had one good hand, and the flies had set on her teeth as well, so she covered her mouth and ignored the bugs as she watched Luca trudge down the hill.

 “Are you alright?”  the shepherd called, as he neared.   The black-bagged dog’s head perked up at the noise.  Amity raised her hand in a placating wave, and the shepherd stopped short, for a moment, before he broke into a sprint.   “ Oh, god- just hold on!”   Amity clapped her hand back over her mouth, as a reflex.  She raised it again, shaking her head, but the man wouldn’t be dissuaded, and tears welled in his eyes as he approached.  

“Oh, lord, what’s Bella done to you? No, no, no!”

The man lost his balance as he approached, falling to his knees at the side of his still-living dog.  He embraced it tightly and let out a sob.   “I’m here, Rocco. You’re ok, right, kid? Oh, no, I’m sorry. Oh, god.  I’m so sorry.  Bella, girl, what’d you do?” His face was red, wet, and twisted with grief.  He extended a trembling arm towards Amity and the dog she was seated atop. “Your face- ”  Amity glared with a ferocity she didn’t have the energy to back.  She held up her hand, palm out, and put as much force into her voice as she could.

“I need hel’.  This is hurt.”   Amity lowered her hand to use her good arm to point at her bad arm. “ This ain’t,” she croaked, pointing at her jaw.  “Old scars. Not urgent.”  She wiped away a fresh rivulet of blood trickling from her scalp.  “ So it’s okay. Okay?”

The shepherd’s expression made clear that, in fact, everything was not okay.  Grief formed some admixture with horror and confusion.  

“ You can get your dog outta that,” Amity murmured.  “It’s not hurt”  The shepherd set his jaw and set to untangling his animal.    “C’mere, Rocco,” he muttered, as he began pulling at the fabric skewered around the animal’s collar.

“You didn’t say she ate a ‘erson,”' Amity said.  Luca paused his untangling, looked up at her, and dipped his chin forward as if he were about to vomit.  “ I… She couldn’t have.” 

“She did. So I need to gut her. Need you to gut her.”  Amity paused, for a moment, as the shepard’s face contorted into a grimace.

“Sorry,” she said.  

The shepherd pulled hard enough on her coat to rip it free from a handful of nails.  For a few seconds, he worked in silence.    Amity returned her hand to her mouth.  She could feel dryness setting in, despite the humidity of the day.  At least, she concluded, there wasn’t much wind.  Some blessing, that was.

“There you go, fella.”  The coat came mostly undone, revealing Rocco the sheepdog.  One of his eyes had shut from bruising, and his unswollen features immediately contorted into a snarl.   He lunged for Amity, and his jaws snapped closed just barely short, held back by his owner’s hold on the fabric still attached on his collar.  He bit close enough for his lips to brush against Amity’s face like puppy kisses.  Amity flinched hard enough for it to hurt, badly, in all the places that hurt to begin with - the thing would’ve taken off the tip of her nose, if such a thing could’ve been done.   

“Fuck! No!” The shepherd shouted, forcing the dog to the ground.  “Stop, damnit! Down! ”   Too exhausted to resist effectively, Rocco stopped kicking in short order.   After a few seconds of weighing on the animal and shouting commands, the dog’s frenzied barking quieted to a soft growl. Its master eased off it, and the dog stayed at ease as he tightened his hold on its makeshift ‘leash’.  

 Amity glanced from the dog to its now double-sized herd, and the dog followed her gaze.  Responsibility seemed to win out over anger, and Rocco strained against his master once more- in the direction of the sheep. 

The coat came free, and then the dog did.  The bloodied thing cast another glance at Amity, and let out a final growl, before it slipped between the sheep and disappeared.

“Rocco’s cute,” Amity said.  

The shepherd stood with his arms folded around her coat.  “He’s a good dog, I swear. So you don’t need to…”  The shepherd set his jaw.  The worry was obvious on his face .  

“He’s alright,” Amity said. “Just doing his duty. Good dog.”

 “Bella, too.”  He took a deep breath, trying to expel his concern.   “She was.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re sure? She ate a person?”

“Yeah. So I need her guts out. Then we can ‘urn her.  Use ‘ire, I ‘ean.”

The shepherd’s mouth half-opened, then popped shut.  His eyebrows tented upward.  Amity clenched her jaw and cocked her head. 

“ We gotta… Incinerate her.”   

“I don’t understand what you mean.” the shepherd said. “That aside, can I even…  Her guts.   If she’s a maneater, can I touch her like that?”

“ ‘Cause I say so, yes. Just do it.  Alright? ‘lease.”

As quickly became apparent, it was not alright.   The shepherd worked slowly, through a grimace, and had to pause twice while splitting the belly to sob.  As he resumed for the second time, the shepherd posed a question.  “So. How old’re you?”

“Sixteen,” Amity lied.   Eighteen would sound better, but no one would believe it. 

The shepherd shook his head.  “Too young.”

“Yeah.” she replied. Too inexperienced, more like. Too poorly-informed, rather, by a fool who didn’t know what ‘incinerate’ meant.  A non-expert, rather. Best to be charitable, the thing was done, now, regardless.  But if she’d known the dog was a maneater, she’d have refused to go.  And if Victor had known, he’d not have sent her.  Or at least he might have given her a sword. And given that it was a maneater, after all, it was for the best it was disposed of. Amity let out a sigh- she wanted to lie down, and the butchery was painfully slow. 

Amity scooted up behind the shepherd and began pointing over his shoulder.  “ Cut this,” she said.  “ In the rear. See?”    She slid her arm into the animal, and the shepherd made space away from her.  He didn’t get the pun, it seemed, but he did cut away the back end of the digestive tract.  

“ What’s your name?” the shepherd asked. 

“Uh.”  

Amity paused.  She withdrew her hand from the dog, and picked up her coat from where it had been left atop a small collection of sheep manure.  After some careful shaking to dislodge a few stickier pellets, she unfurled the collar to show the red ‘Amity’ monogram within- mostly legible, though surrounded by holes.  

“I can’t read that,” the Shepherd said.  

“I can’t say it,” Amity replied.   The shepherd continued his work in silence.  “ A…”  Amity said, covering her face with her mouth. “Mmm.”   She removed her palm. “Ity.”

The shepherd pulled free the guts, and sat back from his dog. “Hi, Amity.” He wiped his brow with his bicep, taking pains not to smear blood on his face.  “I imagine you know, but I’m Luca.”  

“Hi, Luca.”  

“Amity, do what you need to my dog and leave. Please.”   

Amity sat and splayed the remains of her coat out on her lap.  She rummaged with her good hand in the secure inner pockets until she withdrew a small metal canister.  She leaned forward, bit down on the lid, and twisted it open. 

“Stand clear,” she said.  The shepherd obliged.   Amity poured the canister over Bella’s body, and the smell of ammonia and alcohol blended with the pungent aroma of fresh offal.   Luca coughed, as the stench met him a few yards away.  

Amity withdrew a box of matches from her pants pocket, removed one, and held the box in her teeth to strike it. She paused for a moment of consideration.  Then, she spat the thing out, and offered it to the man at her side.

“ You don’t need to, “ she said. 

Luca’s lower lip shot up, and quivered, and then held firm.  Sweat mixed with tears as he  stepped forward to take the matchbox.  A spark and a muttered prayer later, Bella was aflame.  The whole of her caught quickly, soaked as she was, and the fire took on a reddish tinge as it went.    They watched the dog burn in silence, and the flock of sheep ascended the hill in the distance.  

As the fire began dying down, and the sun began to lower in the sky, Luca placed a hand on Amity’s shoulder.  The wrong one, which elicited a wince, but his touch was light. 

“You seem like a good kid,” Luca said.  “Let’s never meet again.  Not like this, at least.”

“Sorry,” Amity said.  “Again.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry.  There’s got to be a better job than this, even if…”   He trailed off.  Amity turned to look at him, and reflexive disgust crept into his face, just for a moment.  It softened quickly into something openly pained.  Luca removed his hand from her shoulder, put it on her head, and stared into her eyes.

“We shear this week, since it’s getting hot.  My wife’ll bring you some wool once it’s spun, for a new jacket.  Black-dyed.” 

“Thank you,” Amity said. She felt a phantom sensation at the corners of her mouth: twitching, and a tingling burn. 

Luca nodded at her with a tight-lipped smile and unhappy eyes.  “ You as well. Good-bye, now.”  Luca lifted his hand from her, nodded, and then made his way towards his home on the hillside.  He didn’t look back.

Amity bagged the guts up in the remains of her coat with her good arm, bunched the corners together, and hefted it over her shoulder.  As the shepherd’s silhouette receded up the hill, and the last of Bella burned to ash, she took the wet sack with her back into town, pausing only briefly on the way to cry.