Stops her own heart

Without breaking stride, I stop my heart from beating. It is a skill that I have practised over the course of many years. My blood quietens: there are no peaks and troughs of surging circulation to spoil my aim. I draw a throwing knife from its scabbard and hurl the blade straight at the creature’s head.

My throw is accurate and I find my target. However, to my annoyance and frustration, the blade does not penetrate the hide, but skids across the hairy head to fall harmlessly into the long grass. A metal helmet could not have provided a more effective defence.

Then I see a gleam of blood in the dark fur. I have cut the flesh but the skull beneath is strong and thick, a bone barrier against my blades.

B9 C3