The slender fingers of the decrepit hand wrapped tight around his wrist, locking together in a vice-like grip and squeezing tight around Seth's wrist. Yet despite it all, Seth barely felt the grip in all honesty. It was as if he was arm wrestling a child, a severely atrophied one at that and he wasn't exactly sporting a body builder's physique himself. A
In fact, if he so wanted, he could tear the arm off just by pulling his arm away with enough force. There was something that stopped him. It wasn't instincts or curiosity or anything of the sort, instead it was a raspy, strained voice emanating from what he had previously assumed to be a corpse. A voice that sounded like it hadn't spoken in decades.
"Dusty old pile of bones, eh? Well that may I be, but that doesn't mean I can't still whoop your backside for trying to steal from me."
