The guard had only brought them dead bodies.

What she wanted was the struggle, the sacrifice, the death.

The bits of sardine were a meal without substance for these bandits that had zest only for food seasoned with assassination.
As though the pulps had understood her complaints, they had fallen on the sandy bottom, flaccid, inert, breathing through their funnels.
A little crab began to descend at the end of a thread desperately moving its claws.
Freya pressed still closer to Ulysses, excited at the thought of the approaching spectacle.

One of the bags, transformed into a star, suddenly leaped forward.

Its arms writhed like serpents seeking the recent arrival.