The scarred coyote understood what he offered, and in that moment she did not want to touch the jawbone. She did not want contact with it; residual power coursed through those teeth. They had touched her flesh before, burned and seared it and made it bleed. She hesitated a long moment, and took the thing. It was dead and cold in her hand; nothing stirred within it and nothing stirred within her. She looked at it with her tired eyes, and then set it down, pushing it aside. There was too much exhaustion and not enough energy within her to feel even pride for this victory; she could only bring herself to care that her eldest son still stood. The silver-shaded Centurion stepped forward and put her arm around him, holding him in a loose, careful hug. She did not want to jostle his wounds or have her own bumped; she laid her head on his shoulder, sighing heavily. There was no sweetness to be held in this victory, anyway—they had both been alive long enough to know by now that another monster would always step up to take Haku's place.
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