Phoenix Maplewood pieces of eight

When he approached she steeled herself in case he meant to snap, or shove, or do some other corrective thing; instead he touched the base of her skull and it almost felt like a hug, or a draping of him across her shoulders. It was a different sort of closeness that surprised her.
It left Indra feeling needy in a way she couldn't express, once he pulled away to tell his story. It was a feeling the adolescent wasn't used to, couldn't name, and yet found herself craving.
A dozen, she murmured with some awe, as if Colt had included some bit about killing them himself. She pawed at the dirt.
Did you keep any of those bones?