"What, like bears?" she asked, a little distracted by the wall. While he watched her, examining the new puzzle of more than simple words, Ruka slipped the right glove off with a practiced ease. Her hand was pale, her fingers thin; no longer a child's hand, but not yet finalized into its adult shape. Even at this age, it was easy to tell she would have long, delicate-seeming fingers and narrow palms. "Well, not survive like bears, I mean," she clarified, bare fingers reaching up to touch the letters.

If she meant to say anything after that, it was cut off with a pained cry. Her fingers barely touched those letters, the subtle dark brown of dried blood before the sound erupted from her, startled and overwhelmed. Ruka recoiled from the wall as though it were electrified completely, jerking back with such force as to lose her balance. The rubber of her shoes screeched against the floor; the girl barely seemed to notice she was falling.