the host

slowly he would come out of the initial shock, simply blinking at the blood seeping from under the bark. was that coming from his leg, or was the tree bleeding? no, that's silly. trees don't bleed. it had to be his. who was screaming? was that his own voice? no, far too high pitched. his ill-matched pools would drag to the woman beside him, studying his face for a few moments. the incessant ringing blaring in his ears made it hard to think. mother? no.. kodda. kodda.

he would rise once more, his face showing obvious pain yet still no other emotion. but this time he would pull, and his hideous leg would come loose. he would stare at it for a moment, the overwhelming pain overriding any initial concern. it burned. bones jutted out from gaping lacerations. it was ugly. it was useless. it was a flaw. look away. a whisper at first, the realization coming to surface. then his voice would rise, now angered and stern, while his igneous pools would catch hers. look away, kodda! to escape a deformed leg, he would need to amputate.