Hector- Hand

The second Skirmisher crossbowman had unleashed a shot just before Vincent had taken him down. Hector hadn’t noticed where the loosed bolt had ended up. Now he saw it, a six-inch shaft sticking clean through the palm of his gloved hand. He cocked his head as he examined it, lifting it, turning the hand one way and then the next as he inspected the wound. He felt no pain, no discomfort. The hand was cold, numb. He gripped the bolt’s head and pulled, drawing it out. Ringlin blanched. It came away with a sucking pop, and Hector tossed it into the snow. Again, he examined the hand, which had a perfectly neat hole punched clean through it. There was no blood, and he felt no distress. He felt nothing.

B4 P5 C8