She split down at the bottom of her flesh.
Strings of ichor hung for a moment in the air before snapping. An egg the size of a bowling ball shuttered beneath, steaming in the grass in which it lay. I had thrown my pack down and run to the creek for water. Lit a fire to boil it, but too late. She died as I knew she would.
The question: To let the abomination break free on its own or to forgive it its first moment of weakness?
Or to bring down the boot before things got out of hand?