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that was his animal heritage, his
Kzinda-given right!
He roared as he climaxed, shoving himself deep within his victim
over and over to take as much of his final moments as he could. And
then it was finished.
He rose, slowly and unsteadily, listening. The room had had no
more than thirty Kzin in it; it was easily possible that none had been
in earshot for much of the fight, but surely everyone had heard his
final roar.
Someone had. A party of four Kzin, each wearing the black of a
*fooch* administrator, came running through the brush. Shaper pointed
down to the figure in the mud. "I..." he gasped. "I claim my kill. He
requires medical attention." He felt tired, almost faint. He looked
down and saw the enormous bloody tears in both thighs the other Kzin had
clawed during the struggle. Just before he passed out, he said "As do
I..."
"How long have I been unconscious?"
"Only a few *izit*," K'narl assured him. "You were in no danger.
We have healed your legs; the fur will grow eventually, and there will
be no scarring. You did not give us directions regarding scar
treatments, and we fall on the side of discretion."
"I understand," Shaper of Swords replied.
"Your honor is intact, as is that of your victim. He lost, but he
went down fighti
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