The Cù-Sìth, a spectral hound vividly green and size of a bull, prowled the snowy streets of the village. It was looking for a soul to carry to the fairy mounds. It inhaled, expanding its massive chest to unleash the Seven-Mile Death-Bark.
"Quiet!" a voice snapped.
Frau Perchta stepped out of the shadows. She appeared as a crone with a hooked nose and iron feet. She carried a long knife and a bundle of straw. She was patrolling for lazy children, not fairy dogs, but she hated noise.
The Cù-Sìth snarled, offended by the interruption. It lunged at the witch, jaws wide enough to crush a skull.
The Surgery
Perchta didn't blink. Weaver's Judgment. "You are undisciplined."
She moved with the sudden, jerky speed of a winter storm. She sidestepped the bite and slashed upward with her knife. Belly-Slit and Straw-Fill.
To the horror of the hound, its spectral belly unzipped. Before it could even yelp, Perchta shoved the bundle of straw inside its cavity and stitched the wound shut with an iron needle.
The Cù-Sìth landed heavily. It felt full. Stuffed. It tried to bark, but the sound was muffled by the dry grass inside it. Humiliated and suddenly very heavy, the fairy dog tucked its tail between its legs and slunk back to the mounds, defeated by a superior disciplinarian.