Ninefingers lurched forward like a drunken man, swaying, wild, sword dangling from his bloody fist. His dead eyes glittered, wet and staring, pupils swollen to two black pits. His mad laughter cut, and grated, and hacked around the circle. West felt himself edging back mouth dry. All the crowed edged back. They no longer knew who scared them more: Fenris the Feared, or the Bloody-Nine.
- The Blade Itself, Part II, The Circle