The boy screamed. The sound tore through the forest, sharp and uncontrolled.
Luna flinched. Not because of the act itself, but because of how easily he had done it. There had been no anger in his face.
Ivor's expression remained unchanged as he twisted the sword and pulled it free. Blood followed the blade as it slid out. The boy writhed on the ground, clutching at his leg, his breathing broken by pain.
Fragments of memory surfaced in Ivor's mind. He remembered the feeling of being on the ground. The weight of their kicks. The helplessness. Even through the haze he had been in, he remembered the smell of each of them. That memory remained clear.
He angled the sword toward the boy's other leg.
The boy saw it and panicked, scrambling backward, his hands clawing at the dirt as he tried to escape.
