Dakshana felt something in her shift - and fall into place. She reached out and traced a fingertip across her thigh where the wound had been, but the skin there was flawless, untouched.
“It hurt,” she said. She was puzzled.
The old man looked at her a moment, then threw his head back and laughed, long and hard. “We’re immortal, but we’re not inhuman. We can still feel pain.”
“Oh.” Dakshana studied the knife intently, admiring the glitter of firelight off the metal.
“Do you know how to use one of those?” the old man asked.
Dakshana tried to stab him.
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