“Daevit Stride, at your service,” he drawls. “Y’know, while we’re being so very courteous and polite in the course of these here introductions.” He kicks a foot up at you and you can see the cholerbear trap clamped around his leg, teeth sunk in through sneaker and jeans all the way to flesh. There’s a glint in the ragged depths of the shredded denim that you really, really hope isn’t bone. “Lend a hand, buddy?”
- Part 1 of Sleepsong
She straightens up and catches him staring. Daevit knows his poker face is as solid as any bar of steel but still he can feel his horns dipping forward, just a little, stupid skitterbug hindbrain with a mind of its own. She just smiles like he couldn’t take her with an army.
- Part 2 of Sleepsong