THE BUTCHER | TALES FROM DISTRICT 10
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- Chapitres 7
She didn't have time to feel sorry.
She was already late.
The reaping bell was tolling. It echoed over the fields like the chime of a dinner triangle, only nobody was eating today.
Everybody was waiting to see who'd be fed to the wolves.
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In District 10, blood comes easy-on the hands, in the soil, behind the eyes. Lassie was born to the slaughterhouse, sharp of tongue and sharper of blade, but when the Reaping comes, it ain't the cows who go under the knife.
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#7
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