“Want to keep going?” I asked his fallen form, my heart in my throat. I stood ready to jump and react at a moment’s notice.
“I’ll bite yer legs off!”
“You don’t have a mouth.”
Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet again. Twice, he used the knife to slash at the silk. On the second attempt, I hit him with the formation of bugs for an eighth sweep of the silk net, hoping to throw him off-balance enough that he’d stab himself. No such luck.
It was worth a try.
Standing straight, Mannequin shifted his grip on his knife and then raised one finger. Wagged it left and right, that same gesture of disapproval, condemnation.
Heh. Back where we began.
And then he collapses one last time?
Then he turned to leave, striding for the door. I didn’t try to stop him. I didn’t have it in me.
Or that. Fair enough.
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