The memory of what had happened earlier still lingered in Skyy's mind. Even now, he could remember the terrifying moment when the branches had wrapped around his throat, and the strange, almost gentle way they had eventually released him. Nothing about what followed made sense, but the image of Prisitsky's body convulsing and the branches emerging from him was something he knew he would never forget.
Skyy's breath hitched as the branch around his throat loosened, its rough surface grazing his skin. Tears blurred his vision, but he could feel the trembling in its movements—hesitation, almost like reluctance. Slowly, it uncoiled, retreating with deliberate care, brushing his face one last time before pulling away completely.
