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sleep, grinning at the massive knives that had moved into
Hide’s hands.
Behind the Mad Skinner, a small army of skin-swapped
men and beasts gathered. I could feel their searing hunger
collide with the burning stares of my family, who had risen
from their sleeping places and materialized behind me,
standing at the ready. I was again doing precisely what the
Flesh Weaver had suggested—having a marvelous dream.
Of course, it was my father who began the festivities.
Jumping high into the air with a roar, he brought the
power of his weapon to bear directly into the center of the
gathered man-beasts and beast-men. The result was a hellish
detonation—his strength, augmented by the surrounding
nightmare, was transformed into searing fire and death.
During the cacophony of blood and flame, my sisters slipped
silently into the shadows, smiling and killing and dancing. I
can never stress enough just how wonderful a pair they truly
are.
The Skinner and I were like two stubborn oaks, survivors
of a tornado, standing solemn and straight amid the ruin
of lesser flora. The clamor of ceaseless violence rang out
everywhere, but Mister Hide chose to contrast the moment
with some pleasant conversation. “This shared dreaming
business is all very well and good, my friend, but the
violence you’ve brought with you is entirely uncalled for.
There’s no need to rend my secrets from my sleep—I’ll
gladly tell you where I am. Beyond my location and my real
name, I haven’t any other secrets for you to take.”
I can’t say I wasn’t a bit disappointed with my adversary’s
lack of enthusiasm for our first confrontation, but I supposed
it was refreshing to see that he was an especially collected
individual, even if his calm bordered on indifference. “So,
you would have nothing from me, your future opponent,
to afford you some potentially valuable insight into the
violence and killing to come?” I asked, hoping to rouse the
killer. “Am I supposed to be impressed by your disinterest?”
210 | Mark Anzalone