Sticks and stones
The daggers had been removed from thier place in my back. The bleeding now only a trickle. The pain had numbed and begun to dull, but I needed to know. And all knowlegde comes with a price. I picked at the scabs, and dug deeper into unspoiled flesh. Fighting to keep a smile and an aura of detatchment, swallowing a scream of anguish, I press forward, asking and listening intently. The answers come, and fresh drops of blood begin to swell