these hands made of splinters

And he had no more come to stand erect beside the sprawling bone pile before she struck.

Moving swiftly, Echelon proceeded towards him with jaws agape, willing to snap and snarl and wildly nip at the warm flesh beneath his shedding coat. Yet it was not a drop of blood that she sought as she moved to go after his shoulders — if she could help it, she would not injure her packmate. These were not times to go about hurting one another.

9 — even is a hit, odd is a miss.