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It was a deep pain which shot through his breast. Leto, staring at his sister, felt a sudden wrenching sense of loss. Whoever controlled those tigers could be out there right now. And she thought: Yes, we must move fast now. Her face appeared pale in the light of the glowglobe. She swallowed, fighting to recover from the aftermath of shock. 'Have it treated as soon as you get back.' He cleaned it up as best he could, bound the wound beneath the stillsuit. They had bled freely into the stillsuit, however. It was not as bad: two shallow claw cuts along the calf. She twisted around to present the other wound.

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He made her tie off the knot with her free hand, holding one end of the bandage in her teeth. It had to be done carefully to stop the flow of blood while retaining the appearance of a clumsy job which Ghanima might have done by herself. Leto found himself sharing her need, but put aside the clamor of his own emotions while he set about binding up the wound. Ghanima glanced once at the wound, closed her eyes and began reciting the litany against fear. The wound described the way she had rotated her arm to present the knife tip to the tiger's paw. One claw had opened a long, gaping wound which twisted from the elbow along the back of her arm almost to the wrist. Leto put the globe on the sandy floor at one side, gasped as he saw her arm. He didn't bother to make it moisture tight. She heard him twisting to reach his Fremkit, felt the dark slickness of a nightshield as it was slipped over her head, tucked in behind her. 'It got my arm,' Ghanima said, trying to bind a loose fold of her robe around the wound. They followed it by its death throes, a thrashing passage down the rocks. But again the narrow gap of the cleft lay open to the stars and the wailing voice of a dying cat filled the night. The blade was wrenched from her numb fingers. Through the pain, she felt the poison tip sink into the tiger. Claws found her elbow before the knife touched flesh, and she had time only to tip her wrist toward the pain before agony raked her arm from elbow to wrist. She poised herself, drew in a deep breath, screamed: 'Taqwa!' It was the old Fremen battlecry, its meaning found in the most ancient legends: 'The price of freedom!' With the cry she tipped the blade and stabbed along the cleft's dark opening. The tiger would have to be lured into attack.Д¬arefully she probed with her sense of smell. Where was the damned animal? Once more she raked the air. The cat must reach down! Slowly she passed the blade along the opening. Very quick! She sank her senses into the calm preparation for crisis which the Bene Gesserit Way provided, put pain and all other distractions out of her awareness.

#REDDIT CHILDREN OF DUNE TV SKIN#

She felt the crusting of blood against her skin there and the warmth of a new flow. Her left leg throbbed where the claws had raked it. Ghanima took a deep breath, braced her back against one wall of the cleft. Worse, it could drive the tiger out of reach, and they'd be trapped in here with a wounded tiger waiting for them in some unknown place out on those rocks. But that could warn anyone out there that they had such weapons. And he almost pulled her back to insist they use a maula pistol. She gasped, and he knew she must be standing.

He felt Ghanima pull away, heard the sandy rasping of her robe against the rock. It was the logical thing to do, but logic warred with every emotion in him. Reluctantly he quested with his free hand, found her hand and returned the knife. 'I'll be careful, keep my head down.'ДЄs he remained silent, she said: 'You know I'm the one who has to do this. 'Whoever's out there mustn't learn we have maulas - not yet.' She touched his arm. 'I don't like your taking this risk!' he said. 'If there's anyone out there to hear, they'll know we came prepared for -' 'That thing could take your head off with one sweep. 'But if you're badly injured, I won't be able to leave you,' she said. 'And you're wounded, so you're the one going back,' he said. 'Yes, but we agreed that if one of us could avoid being wounded.' 'It has to be teased into reach of the knife.' 'I think I'm going to have to stand up,' he said. Nothing could be heard of the first cat the crysknife's poison had completed its work. A fetid breath, moist with the musky smell of the cat, assaulted his nostrils. 'It's not behaving the way the other one did.' The blade encountered only empty air, even when he reached into a level dangerous to his body. Once more he began that careful upward questing. He felt the handle of her crysknife slip into his palm, gripped it tightly.

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