10 iii) Shyan’s hand in Old Mossy’s cabin twitches and grips
Shyan’s hand in Old Mossy’s cabin twitches and grips, folding into a fist. The movements are jerky, staccato, but when the fingers reach the palm they stay there, tight and rigid. Shyan’s hand in Waiiaz folds effortlessly into a fist, with flowing movement like a flower blossoming in reverse. She feels the grip is heavy but supple, her form perfect. She squares her stance.
Davit searches her expression. In Waiiaz, her eyes are hard but questioning as Shyan awaits her master’s orders. In Old Mossy’s, her eyes dart back and forth behind lids squeezed shut.
Davit’s lips move as he is about to speak, but Shyan is faster than him. As commanded, she strikes. Her fist leaps for Davit’s throat like a coiled snake. A flash of fear crosses his face as Shyan’s fingers crush the older man’s esophagus. He stumbles to his knees, looking up at Shyan with pain, horror and pride on his features. His linen-clad limbs scrabble at the jungle floor until he goes still.