By the time Cartwright had finished pulling prickers out of her hands, Nimbus was struggling to stay awake. “It seems,” he told her, his voice far too quiet and calm, “that the poison in the prickers puts you to sleep when they are pulled out.”
The thought penetrated her fog. “So that the plant could digest me better. If I struggled, I’d run into the prickers, and if I fought the prickers, they’d knock me out.”
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