[The tome lies open in the dirt. There's the ragged edges of a torn-out page, possibly several, dug into the spine, and the jackal angles their head away from the perversion with another coarse, choked-out sound of dismay.]
[But something of her question seems to penetrate their consciousness, because eventually the Storyteller raises their head and looks directly at her, unblinking, their canid eyes glazed.]
I'm sorry. I'm...
[For what may be the first time in a very long time, words fail them.]
no subject
[But something of her question seems to penetrate their consciousness, because eventually the Storyteller raises their head and looks directly at her, unblinking, their canid eyes glazed.]
I'm sorry. I'm...
[For what may be the first time in a very long time, words fail them.]
[Words fail them.]
[And they bow their head in shame.]