The claw came out of the big man about four inches under his ribs, and it was not in any hurry about it.
It went through his coat first. Then through him. The point of it stood out from his front with a bead of him hanging off the tip, and it stayed there, unbothered, the way a nail stands out of a plank.
Behind him there was nothing. Dark, and the mouth of the cavern, and the dark going back into the cavern, and no arm attached to the claw at all.
'…'
'No.'
Bren was three feet from him with the water skins over her shoulder. Light had the rag in his hands. The silent one was at the rock, looking at the wyvern the way he had been looking at it since the wings came up, and none of them moved, and none of them stopped, and none of them looked.
The big man shifted his weight off his bad hip, the way he had every few minutes for eleven days.
Then he tipped his chin at the wyvern.
"It can fly."
