Circle in snow, spear line around us.
Rowan lunges with knife, North style, low, fast, aiming for thigh, not kill, first blood.
I don't move like wolf. I move like girl who was wolfless for 21 years and had to fight with hands because no claws came.
Use me, Lyra says inside, waking up because fight smell.
No, I tell her. I said without you. Just me. Like I told them.
You will bleed, she says.
Then I bleed, I say.
Rowan's knife cuts air where my leg was. I stepped back, not fast wolf step, human step, but I learned footwork from Caelan in destroyed training room. Four counts. In, hold, out.
She slashes again, I catch wrist. Not with claws, with fingers. My fingers are strong now, even without shift. Silver blood in veins makes grip tight.
She twists, tries to knee me. I twist too,
