Eatin' Good

Señora Swipey makes a valid argument: her hollow, slithering voice unfurls at the base of my skull, holding me captive. "If you don't, you'll die." True enough. Still, I hesitate. Señora Swipey hovers above my hand, her blade poised right over my wrist. She hums with pleasure, anticipating the taste of my blood.

If I think about it any longer, I won't be able to go through with it.

I need to do this.

The blade comes down, and I no longer have a right hand.

It is a while before the pain ebbs and I can see straight again. It's a good thing that it's so cold out; it helps with the pain considerably.

It's another while before I'm able to bring the severed hand to my lips and eat.

[Berk eats his hand and flees]