By now the sun was starting to set, and Irene had gone back outside. She plucked some of her herbs so that it could go along nicely with the meat she'd caught, yawned, and went back inside to prepare the small animals. Irene froze. The couch was empty. [i]I should have tied him up. Why in the hell did I not tie him up?[/i] She checked for her knife. Yep, it was still there. It crossed her mind that she might have just let a depraved psychopath into her home, and she groaned softly, wondering why she had bothered showing any humanity. 

"Have fun making that ankle of yours worse, idiot," she called, and slipped into the kitchen. With nervous glances behind her, she beheaded the bird and the squirrel, plucked the bird, and skinned the squirrel. The faint smell of blood wafted out of the kitchen.