"Isabella, you have to gut the pig yourself," Bubu said, making Isabella freeze in place. She slowly turned her gaze to the dead pig now lying on the stone slab, its cold, lifeless eyes staring at her.
She swallowed hard, then whispered to herself, "You say what now?" Her voice trembled, disbelief taking over.
Was this a setup? She couldn't even begin to process this.
"Bubu..." Isabella's voice failed her. She couldn't even find words.
Now, it's not like she hadn't gutted a fish or a deer before—especially that deer on that strange mountain—but here was the difference. When she had gutted that deer, she did it seamlessly, like a pro. No disgust, no hesitation. It was like something in the mountain air had made her immune to the horrors of... well, cutting open an animal.
But this? This was different.
