Mother kicked off the ceiling, and three forward scythes swung up above Hajin like a hungry butcher picking a cut. Fresh strands snapped tight behind his heels, laying silk across the only retreat easy enough for a coward to try.
'Joints, give me the joints before that thing gives me a terrible haircut.'
'Left knee drops next, so stop whining and step where I tell you,' Juna snapped through the bond.
Her sense of the legs poured into him, painting each joint where the next blade would land before it fell.
His right arm stayed strapped inside the sling while the Chain settled across his left palm, warm and ready.
Egg sacs shook overhead whenever Mother shifted her weight, each one promising more mouths if a wide swing burst them. He kept the free end low beneath the sacs and checked the nearer joint against stone he could stand on.
"Wide swings are out, unless I want a nursery dumped on my head," he muttered, flicking the links lower.
