The little figure turned inside him when he tried again. Its eyes looked through his. Its gauntlet closed with his fingers. The old armor plates began to sink into the bones they had been holding together.
He took his weight off the mountain. The sense of two bodies flickered. He put his heel down again, softer this time, and waited for it to return. He could still let the soul pull free if he stopped now. The shoulder would always tear before the rest came out, but some part of it could still move beyond his skin. He had used that reach to get people off the broken fold.
Above him the court’s light went through the scar. He closed both hands. The last plate went into his shoulder. He lost the feeling of a second hand outside his own. The pain eased enough for him to raise the arm.
He put his heel down once more. This time the weight reached the old anchor and stayed there.
