By Jon Dixon
Meriva lay on her belly, chill creeping through her leather tunic, steel clicking coldly between her teeth. She shifted her jaw a fraction, adjusting pressure on the torsion wrench. A small, sharp jar against her tongue from the pick.
She exhaled slowly. Another pin set.
She wasn’t fast, not like before. But precision and patience remained. A fraction more tension and a slight curl of her tongue. Another click.
Not helpless. Not lesser. Still Meriva.
She spat her tools into a pocket, wriggled forward, chinned open the chest, and stared.
The rubies shone like triumph.
Of all impossibilities. A limbless thief.
“She spat her tools into a pocket” –Awesome
Nicely done. Original idea.
Great twist at the end. Nicely done!