The lion seemed to be melting, the way dead monsters do sometimes, until there was nothing left but its glittering fur coat, and even that seemed to be shrinking to the size of a normal lion’s pelt. “Take it,” Zoë told me. I stared at her. “What, the lion’s fur? Isn’t that, like, an animal rights violation or something?” “It is a spoil of war,” she told me. “It is rightly thine.”
