The butcher's axe brushed past her and hit the ground close to where she was standing.
"Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh", squealed Poietin, as she ducked to avoid the sharp blade. A second chop came whistling past her, followed by a third, and a fourth, as the monster got closer. There was nowhere she could run to. There was no escaping the butcher's axe... Poietin was about to become minced protein.
shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh pok!
Le hachoir se soulève une nouvelle fois. Poïétine - acculée dans un coin - ne peut plus esquiver le coup fatal. Sa fin est proche. Elle ferme les yeux, attendant le coup de grâce... Sa fin est proche. Elle ferme les yeux, attendant le coup de grâce...
