Luta's arrogant smile severed his face like a knife. Sun glinted behind his head, outlining the spikes of his hair in a halo of light. McKay fastened her eyes on the livid white scar zig-zagging its way across Luta's cheek. Peccary teeth, Tikitu had said, mark of the vicious peccary. Luta's totem. His flinty eyes lingered on the fist she held to her breast. Gritting her teeth, McKay held the feather tighter still. She'd never give up this feather to Luta. No, she'd rather die at the hands of the...
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