Bearclaw Valley What good to be a god myself, unless things can touch your heart?

Terrified, he was terrified. Attuned to every little sound of the lurking woman's body; her breath, her steps, the blink of an eye—Karst was vigilant around the other children out of habit and now that he was set before an adult, made hypervigilant.

His chattering teeth did not stop; the sound was like castanets - then booming, so loud he knew he had to force himself to stop or he might deafen himself. He grit his teeth and tucked his chin against his chest at precisely the moment Astara lunged for his skull. He did not see her coming because he had his eyes shut tight. He did not hear the movement of her furs and the crunch of the earth until his face was wedged down in to the plush of his pewter collar; but it was enough.

The boom of her teeth clacking together over his head startled him—but more dire than that was the feeling of one tall ear catching in the hinge of fangs. With one swift movement her mouth closed and those curved incisors cut in to the soft tissue of one ear and a corner of the other; tearing raggedly as his head dropped low.

The boy was struck dumb by the surprise of it. A flare of pain came next and it was unlike anything Karst had experienced before, to that end his eyes opened wide in an almost comical expression of shock. It would be another second, maybe two, before the pain hit home — and by then his ears were filling with blood to the point of blocking out all other sounds. All he could do then was scream as he dropped lower, cowering in the dirt.