Forty-six
As Ronat lunged, Brice shifted. Muscles moved of their own accord.
Her talons sliced the air in front of his face, a warm blur brushing his skin.
And she’d over-extended. Just like she used to in training.
Brice spun, and before Ronat could recover, he ran to the Proteus. The sun beat down on him, but he focused on the shadows beneath the craft.
Ronat roared, too close behind. Brice dove to the ground, felt the back of his jacket rip, then he hit the ground and rolled.
It was cooler under the Proteus, but Brice couldn’t stop. Already Ronat was crouching, reaching her arms out. But she was too big to follow.
The underside of the craft was not smooth. There were bulges of metal, rivets, other things Brice didn’t know the name of. But they could help him.
He grabbed what he
