They found the exam over the second hill, milling listlessly in the brown grass that spread across the valley under the noonday sun. The man in black boots crouched in the mulberry copse, glassed his target, then raised his weapon and sent its buckshot tearing across the veldt. And then the thunderous crack of the rifle was resounding between the hills and the rocks behind the HSK were splatter-stained with a crimson decoupage.

I kindly reckon we just killed the HSK, the man in the boots said. Let's move in to get a better look, the second said. And they went forward and found the exam - once so terrifying - just a pretty little thing. A little pretty sad little thing.