When in Doubt, We Cull

Sericea whipped her head around at the sound of Zagan's voice, momentarily startled out of her intense focus. She hadn't even noticed his approach, so consumed was she by the dilemma presented by the sickly ewe. Her vivid green eyes met his, wide and searching, expecting to find some sort of input in the dilemma that presented before them. "Zagan," she acknowledged with a curt nod, her voice tight with barely contained agitation. She turned back to the herd, leaning forward once more with an intense, predatory focus. Her claws dug into the obsidian rock, scoring thin lines in the glassy surface.

"It's sick. Contagious, most likely," Sericea said bluntly, not taking her eyes off the ailing sheep. She tilted her head, studying the animal with a critical gaze. "It will spread its disease to the rest of the herd if left unchecked.” She paused, her ears flicking back as she considered the unpleasant but necessary course of action. "It needs to be culled. Removed before it's too late." Sericea's voice was cold and detached, but there was an undercurrent of uncertainty, a hint of doubt in her feminine features.

She glanced at Zagan out of the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction. Would he approve of her assessment?

"Sericea Praetor-Inferos"