22
At the apex of his jump, Aunio’s right arm was a spear.
He twisted, dodging a swinging tendril, and turned his shoulder downward, throwing his weight behind the thrust. He had cleared twenty-five feet with his leap, but he wouldn’t make it to the thing’s head, so he intended to split open its neck instead.
He impacted and his arm slid through, oil on oil, but the strand curved around it, yielding to avoid damage. He pressed with his boots and withdrew the spear-hand before it was swallowed. A whistling noise came from his left, and a mammoth arm made of strand slapped him away.
Pain coursed through him. He hit the ground, tumbled, and skidded to a stop. Aftershocks of the impact thumped in his skull. He raised himself to his haunches, a torture. Several broken ribs, blood streaming
