"I just shrugged my shoulders. "It's just common sense", I told her. "Like I said before, killing for food is one thing, killing for fun is something ... won't do. Speaking of which, I hope you know how to clean that thing. I don't have a clue, and I doubt Denise does, either."Ann knew what to do, but suggested we take it to the creek, since we were almost there. That way, we could get cleaned up easier. We rolled it onto a tarp, and tied it to my saddle horn with a rope. Diablo handled the extra. It was rounded on the bottom and had what felt like springsinside. He put his hand in there, rather than his foot (which heabruptly noticed was still in the tights). He pushed on the springs bypressing his hands together, and what felt like little screwdriver headspressed through the stretchy sole fabric and into his palm. If he triedto walk in those, he would be painfully pricked. He let that fall to theground as well.A mad desire welled up in him to put all of the locking clothes onbefore the. More

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