It was not for a week or a month. "Take it," cried Wood, holding the infant towards her; "take it, and fly. She had even tried a needle and a catheter on a victim once, but had found that the process was so frustrating and slow that she barely gained any sustenance and had done the worst thing imaginable: wasted a kill. ‘Is it soft, the way you seize me from behind? Parbleu, my heart it is flown from my chest! Boom, boom, it goes, even now. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you.
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