Phoenix Maplewood pieces of eight

All those bones, and nothing to show for it. No proof it had even really happened - but she believed it by the look Colt held now. He could've been playing her; she'd never have known different.
This'un is crooked.
She punched the head and felt it give, twisting at the neck with a lurch. See the face? Might've been kicked. No use for that ugly thing. But she didn't leave it yet. It wasn't worth keeping but that didn't mean it was worthless. What's a haint?