Swiftcurrent Creek macaw

knives seized muskrat just above her right elbow. a grunt of pain hung like a stone in the night.

then the awqalli was twisting through the air with her own bone-blades.

they were not alone.

her own jaws closed around the ear of the first attacker; she dragged the girl toward the ground, blood trickling into her mouth as the second warrior sang for her nape.

muskrat dropped beneath him, less capitulation than a gambit. mouthful of fur and flesh held fast. intending to shred if her grasp was fought, the trespasser did not fight the firm bite on her hackles. heart raced; ribs swelled; teeth clenched harder if the man sought to hurt her own skin in return.

a dark laugh burbled in her throat.