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Summary
His eyes turn to her, bright, gleaming blood, and she can't stop herself from gripping her knife a little more tightly.
"What is 'ma-ka'?" he asks warily.
"Me," she admits. "What are you?"
He smiles, though it's more of a pained grimace. It's then she notices the dark, filthy tie-down straps wrapped around his chest, attaching him to the tree. "Soul," he says. "...Usually."
