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Sweat streamed down the sides of Coracis’ face, mixing in with the curls of hair along his temples. His body ached. He had a bruise on his arm and a small cut on his hand. He laid on a large, well cushioned, rectangular couch, his upper body slightly elevated on its sloping headrest. He had stretched out along its entire length, moving his head from side to side, trying to lengthen the muscles that were now tense in his neck.
The adrenaline still moved through him, making his skin vibrate, his breathing fast, his heart pound. He opened and closed his mouth wide, in a purposeful yawning motion, making his aching jaw pop as he tried to calm shaky nerves.
He reached up with his uncut hand to remove the fat roll of leather that now laid loose between his back teeth, its edges protruding
