Fifteen
Catarine
Atana looks down on my prone form with a cruel gleam. “Hey, little human.” He squats down to my level. “Remember me?”
I hold my breath.
“Oh, you do remember. Your blade insulted me in front of my crew. It’s bad enough that he doesn’t respect my territory but then he tries to get the captain to order me?”
Atana flips his wrist up. His blade extends.
The tip is on a diagonal, with the high side by his thumb and the low side by his pinky. The high side is thicker but still sharp; it tapers to the low side, which gleams with a woodgrain pattern.
“He might as well cut out a piece of my chest. So I’m going to cut out a piece of him. But he’s not here. You are. And the way he’s acting, hurting you is a good place to start.” Atana waves the blade in front of my face. “Want
