Takes him a minute, brow furrowed as she twists like some kinda barn dance. Can't she feel her own cuts? Takes him a minute, but he finally reaches back. Shoulder grinds blade and pain drops the whole arm slack.

He goes white-faced, then ruddy with it; coughing for nothing but the spasm of his chest. Yeah, he can feel that.

"Shit," Might've been happier to ignore the damn thing. "Can't pull it out."

Not alone. At Abby's feet, the dying man twitches, burbles. Lazar knows a little Vint — the old tongue, anyway. This doesn't sound like much but blood.