“He shook his head. “I’m not like your kind.” And then more sharply, almost as an accusation: “Why don’t you carry weapons?”
I bristled, pulling back my shoulders. “We have weapons. We just don’t use them on people.”
“Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t be so weak.”
Weak? My fingers curled to a fist, and swifter than a hare, I punched him in the stomach. He grunted, doubling over.
“Does that seem weak to you, mighty scavenger?” I taunted. “And remember, our numbers are twice that of yours. Maybe it is you who should follow our ways.”
―
Mary E. Pearson,
Morrighan