[Beren's Hold]

Ophelia seriously considers taking one of his fingers. It would be less painful that way. But then, of course, she's still bleeding, so chances of him changing would increase, and chances of him being able to pick a lock while missing a finger and in a lot of pain is small. Besides, werecreatures on Laira regenerate.

So she laughs at him instead. "I'd only want your flesh if I was hungry!"

Instead she holds up her own hand. Now, the bones of a werecat are far too strong to snap or break. But the claws are delicately placed, cocooned inside the soft flesh, and can easily be withdrawn.

The skin on her index finger is easy to part with her teeth, made easier by the simple fact that her messed-up nerves don't register pain very well. The horrible smell of rotting, decaying flesh fills the room. To her, it's like a pinprick. Digging the fingers on her other hand into the wound, she manages to grab hold of the claw underneath the skin, and yank it out. The loud CRACK sounds much worse than it feels, and moments later she's holding out a dark red curving claw in blood-covered fingers for him to take.

And smiling. Yes, smiling. At him. Rather creepily.