"No proof, you say?" Rivena asked sarcastically, pulling her hands behind her, "But the proof's in the pudding, darling--look at the shape of the bruise. Tell me, what does it remind you of?"
Although the shape had been an odd one, Revian never took notice of what it resembled. However, upon closer inspection, he noticed that there was rhyme in its constitution. With four long tendrils encroaching upon Malric's left side and a single, smaller one on his right, previous happenings panned in his mind like flashes of lightning.
"A hand," one arbitrator gasped, leaning forward with careful introspection, "and a large one at that."
"Precisely," Rivena smugly remarked, twisting her body in the direction of the three at the top of the courtroom, "and, unequivocally, an injury that Revian couldn't have inflicted on his own. Now, do you remember how we've testified there was another in the room?"
