From Shen Qingqiu's mouth issues a wet, gurgling snarl, and his hand closes pincer tight around Drelasa's wrist. But his nails do not gouge, his teeth do not snap. He waivers on his feet, the far-off sound of...of bells, beautiful bells calling to prayer, beginning to pierce through the red fog that's blanketed his mind.

He cannot speak, cannot even form words in his own thoughts, but he whines, deep in his torn-up throat, and clings to Drelasa's arm.