It bites down harder; the tingling intensifies, and when the fox opens its mouth, Fives' arm falls away into the water, paralyzed to the shoulder. The hand that reaches into the fox's ruff feels like it's burning, and like it's trying to catch hold of a flame, like there's nothing there to grab at all. The fox puts one coal-black paw on that shoulder, and that arm falls uselessly as well.

It leans forward, so that they're almost nose to nose.

"You promised our Lord on his own altar that you would stop hurting yourself," the Fox murmurs in a low rumble. It's not quite the God's voice, but it resembles it a good deal more than Marten's continuing squeaks of dismay. "That promise will be enforced."