"It's just the hair's gone," He lifts an arm — that don't lift so far as it oughta — to review his singed knuckles. "Gotta get a second rune, keep the handle cold."

He twists around to squint at her: She looks alright. The knife phwings a little on the air, back and forth, and hell if it don't feel like someone slugged him good. Gonna be a deep bruise.

(Blood pours freely down the back of his leathers.)