Bitterroot was brimming with questions, but they needed as much time as they could get. She did as she was told, stretching out her legs and wings and breathing deeply. Amanita muttered something — it almost sounded like a chant to Bitterroot — and stood over her, holding a knife. She kept looking at it like it was ready to explode as she pressed the blade against an artery. “You know I’m sorry about this, right?”