Alright, so, first off, this is a prequel/backstory for my Shep, Amber Shepard. There are some original characters, but no self inserts.

It all takes place within Bioware's Mass Effect Universe, their creative property. I do not own any of Bioware's stories or characters or locations.

Though it'll probably take a while for the story to get off the planet Earth and into spaaaaaace

Secondly, this is the first time in a long while that I've written an actual story, so please help me shake off the rust and give me feedback about where to improve. I've taken these first few chapters as a trial run to get my descriptive writing back to where I want it. I would greatly appreciate any helpful comments :)
No harm done if you don't though; this is for the enjoyment of Mass Effect fans as much as it is for me.

So yeah, enjoy? I hope? Let me know :)

March, 2167

Even before the shuttle door opened, she knew what awaited her. She had been through this same scenario far too many times in her twelve years. The quarters would be cold, hard and dry; saturated with deteriorating mattresses and worn out cots. The hope was always that the volume of bodies would warm each other enough to make do. There wouldn't be enough first aid supplies for the injuries, illnesses and infections that would take place in the next year. There would be food enough for half the mouths that were being delivered, and that wasn't including the children already living in the new orphanage, or who were on route. There would be enough to keep them malnourished, but alive.

At least, some of them. For a time.

And finally, when the money ran out, there would be another shuttle waiting for her, if she survived. The longest she had remained in one place was St. Paul's Orphanage on Montreal road. It was nice; the headmistress had been really kind, and every third Sunday they would have ham.

But then it burned down, she recalled, her brow furrowing at the memory of the friends she had lost. The home she'd lost. She'd been lucky enough to sleep near a window, and escaped with only minor cuts from the broken glass. Good things never last.

The local gangs often used orphanages as recruitment zones, and when met with resistance, they would take matters into their own hands. More orphanages would pop up in one's place…there were always kind-hearted people ready to give a temporary home for unwanted children, especially when the government and private investors had so much interest in keeping them alive; secluded, away from sight, but alive. People probably felt better about themselves when they weren't seeing dozens of starving children on their morning commute.

Would probably spoil their appetites, she thought. Not that it would mean more food in my mouth. Any kid with their wits about them knew dumpster diving meant taking a gamble on a slow death. For as long as she knew, the city dumpsters had used some chemicals to break down the junk tossed into them, or so the older kids said. It wasn't without some basis; too many others she'd known had died in similar ways after making similar attempts. If you were fast, you could salvage freshly tossed food. Being orphans, who could generally sneak out only at night, it was a chance only a fool would take.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the doors opened, letting the warm daylight wash across her face. She had hated how dark the insides of the shuttles were, how windowless they were. It would take her a week before she knew where in Ottawa she'd been moved to. Perhaps longer if the place was on the outskirts of the city, but that was unlikely. The trip hadn't been long, and her last orphanage was near the city's core.

Nevertheless, she'd always wanted to see the chaos of city life during daylight hours. The sight of the city flying past her was one she'd always wanted to experience, and was denied it each time she'd been transported. Maybe when I'm older, she wondered.
The stout, balding man who'd packed them into the shuttle started calling the children out in alphabetical order. It was over an hour before her name was finally called.

"Amber Shepard", the man announced wearily, placing incorrect emphasis on the '–pard', reminding her that getting someone who can't read well to record your identity isn't the best idea. Of course, it wasn't her idea, but somebody made that choice.

"It's pronounced like Shepherd." She reminded him, reminiscing. A young nun had used to read her an old story about a Shepherd when she was a young girl and had trouble sleeping. When her records were lost, she decided to use that instead of her old one, Karahalios, which was much harder for her and others to spell and pronounce. In the end, it made no difference. Most people used her first name anyway.

"Right, whatever." He waved her off, dismissively. "You're to head inside now."

The building was large and simple; built long ago and showing its age, but the staff obviously maintained it well. Maybe repurposed it. It was made mostly of concrete, and the windows were high up, making it likely a refurbished textile factory or something similar. Looking at the yard, she found she was surrounded. This orphanage, unlike others, was not likely funded by gangs at all; the tall barbed fencing would see to it that there would be no easy entry or exit. Troublesome.
Despite the charm of the security fence, the bushes along the property and building were healthy looking and well trimmed. The yard was mostly tiled with cheap stone slabs, but patterns of grassy squares filled the area; as she moved forward toward the door, she let her feet stray to one of them. The grass held an emerald green tint in the sunlight, and the earth cushioned her step as she strode across. It reminded her of the talk she'd heard about colonies that the Alliance was settling in. There were fresh planets, fields with tall grass…

"…trees with fruit growing on 'em! Not in stores, but on trees! I swear, we should hitch onto a ship and run off to one of them colonies, we'd live like…like rich people!" her friend Forrest had claimed, enthusiastically, to her a few years ago. She didn't quite believe him, but she didn't mind letting the possibility remain in the recesses of her mind.

Living on a colony isn't such a bad idea. Maybe I could be a farmer...
She bonked her head on the door, distracted by her daydreaming.
Well, at least I'd have more food than I'll ever get here. And fresh food too!... And less walls to walk into.

The door opened into a spacious chamber, vacant of any other children, though she could see a group of children being escorted down a hallway ahead and to the left of her. On the far end of the room along the wall, a tall woman stood still as a statue; her visibly sharp features were made harsh by how gaunt she was, and the pitch black dress she wore only made her seem like a specter. Her eyes remained fixed on Amber as the small, thin brunette cautiously approached the desk. The girl stopped a foot in front of the desk, not raising her eyes to the ghostly figure in front of her. For longer than she would have liked, the reception room remained silent.

"Amber Shepard." The woman's in front of her stated, matter-of-factly. Even her voice was raspy, as if there were some force attempting to prevent her speech.
"Twelve years of age." Her words were drawn out. Great, a creepy slow-talker.

"Brown of hair." Shepard felt a slight chill run up her spine. There were signs of hope outside; those small patches of grass, the dazzling sunlight in the evening sky. Now, that was all but forgotten before this woman. Something about the woman simply unnerved Amber.

"Here." Shepard waited for a few moments after the woman had paused, and her eyes slowly drifted upward until they caught sight of a hand holding a small book, with a long grey utensil on top of it. She hadn't seen a book, a physical book, for a few years, and was confused. "Paper and pencil. For writing. "

Shepard couldn't help but allow the confusion to spill across her face. "Why? Paper's more expensive than datapads."

"More secure. Only one copy of writings." The woman said, taking a momentary, visible pause. "More personal." She stated, with a relaxed smile. She wasn't the best looking woman by any stretch, and she was still incredibly frightening to Shepard, but the smile was sincere and eased Shepard a little. Enough to, after a short pause, hastily grab the package from her hands.

"Please wait over to the right. The next child will be entering." Shepard's eyes were glued to the book, but she drifted off to the side of the room, nestling her shoulders on the wall. There weren't many pages in it, perhaps around a hundred, but it looked sturdy enough. The pencil had a pointed tip, which would do well enough; she preferred pens because they didn't smear or get dull, though preferred typing on datapads over both. Truth be told, she wasn't the best at writing. She could read, sure, but her writing was hardly legible to anyone; her letters would often form similarly to others, needlessly swirly and tightly packed to the point of illegibility.

Maybe a little privacy could be nice, I guess.

The sleeping quarters were, as predicted, cramped. The beds were stacked three high, with barely a few feet between them, though there was a long distance from the top bunk to the roof. There were only a few lights in the room, and the windows were high up, though small, meaning the room would be dark more often than not. Amber was assigned the top bunk of a set near the window, allowing her a decent view at the yard and the buildings outside of it. The neighbourhood seemed fairly tame; most buildings were in decent shape, although the trash littering the streets and the obvious vandalism made it clear that it wasn't the nicest area of town either. She stashed her book under her pillowcase until she could find a more permanent solution.

The day had been uneventful and consistent with the other homes she'd been to. She and her group had visited the dining hall first. It was small-ish like others she'd been to, meaning feeding hours were staggered; it was only a matter of time before she'd learn if they had money or not. Most didn't, and fed children once a day, or once every other day…small portions at that. It was strange that most orphanages tended to show this room off first. There was a clear dissonance between what they thought they presented to the kids, and what they took in. Kids knew they'd be fed at some point, and whether there were tables didn't matter.

Only the quantity of food did. That was never discussed in the tours, ever.

The warden showed the group around the yard briefly. The other half of the yard was more fortunate, home to a spattering of small trees, none of which offered much in the way of shade. The larger squares of grass around them were appealing though, and during the daytime hours, she figured she'd put them to good use.

This place might be good for a while.
Until it comes down to survival.
It ALWAYS comes down to that.

The last orphanage she was at, she had lost four of her roommates to starvation and disease, and one to the dumpsters. She remembered Greg, a scrawny boy two years younger than her, had wanted a way out. "I hear it only takes three days." He had confided in her, the night he snuck out. At that point, she was certain the orphanage would close soon and they'd be moved. He hadn't eaten in six days, neither had the others. He'd survived two weeks at the previous one, and wasn't interested in reliving that.

He broke. Most do.

She had tried to stop him before, she had tried to stop many others. It never worked. Once, she gave up her food so her friend Gabby could eat, but she didn't get more food for another week. Amber was sick for a month. Too close.

There wasn't much to the place aside from the yard, the dining hall, the reception room, the washrooms, and the sleeping quarters. The building wasn't set up as a school, and that almost pleased her; those ones always went under quickly. She was still young, there was much she didn't understand, but she did have her wits, and she did know that it takes credits to run places like this. It's not free. The nicer the place is, the shorter her time would be there.

It wasn't that she didn't want to leave the orphanages, but they really were all she knew. Outside of the walls and gates, life was unpredictable. Inside, they were almost always the same as they ever were, life was simple. Not enjoyable, or easy, but simple. Eat your food, learn and study, sleep. That was what life was, and she was fine with that. Even sitting atop her bed, she could hear other children prattle on about this being their last stop before they strike out on their own. Some had forgone their future by deciding to run with gangs; however, some talked about how they'll be miners, soldiers, galactic heroes, and farmers when they leave. For a moment, she left that line of thought pass through her, but she quickly shook it off.
I'm twelve. No point wishing for something I won't know for at least six years. That's six winters, probably five orphanages, and at least four times I'd have to survive starvation, she mused, so long as the pattern she had lived continued. It would. Of that, she was certain.
Life is simple.

November 8th 2167

Several months passed. They must have, though she couldn't actually recall much about them aside from small changes to her body. Not that big of a deal, and it would have been worse for her not to have undergone them. She'd grown slightly taller, though was still a gaunt runt of a girl. More than that, it was an official declaration that she'd never be adopted.

Not that it was a surprise, really. She'd only known a few dozen to have been adopted before, and they were nearly all under the age of four. Infants. Children. Dependent. Most kids went through orphanages and either ran with gangs or joined the alliance. It was a decent enough gamble for the government. The kids knew how to live in cramped, poor conditions, they knew how valuable food and shelter was, and knew how to survive.

She had turned thirteen, but felt long divorced from the title of child.
Children are cared for. They have families. Mothers, fathers. They probably don't starve to death.
She felt a tinge of bitterness seep into her, colouring her thoughts, but as soon as it was there, it was gone.
I hope they don't, at least. I like to think there's something better than this out there

Her feeding schedules really weren't all that bad. Vanier House for Orphaned Children towed a line between generosity and restriction; she'd eat once two days in a row, and the day after that she wouldn't eat. That cycle continued, and despite it being odd, she enjoyed it. She had rarely eaten two days in a row before, not without stealing the other meal. It was nice, and she appreciated it more during the long day without food, especially considering the meals were always thick and somewhat filling despite the small portions.

On the other hand, despite the food, they weren't given many freedoms. Five hours a day outside was all they were given, and the staff seemed to break up any physical activities and anything remotely fun. She guessed they didn't have much in the way of first aid supplies, by how they were cracking down on everything. With more colonies popping up and all that craziness in space that the staff would gossip over, it was probably too expensive. At least they were smart about it though. A lot of the kids were annoyed, but the food in their stomachs helped ease that somewhat.

"Hey, Birdy!" a voice from underneath her shook Amber from her thoughts. Melody. Cute little redhead. Always coming up to bug me. The girl had huge emerald eyes that contrasted fiercely with her hair and her face full of freckles. When Amber had first seen her, she was amazed the girl had not been adopted; she was exorbitantly cute, animated, but very put-together and polite. The redhead was about Amber's age, though looked much younger due to her shortness and her face. One morning, Amber had noticed the small girl peering wide-eyed up at her from her bedside ladder; Amber had always been somewhat restless and had poor posture, and would often perch on the balls of her feet instead of sitting normally. That quirk had quickly earned her the pet name "Birdy" from Melody. They talked here and there, ate together every once in a while, but those names were usually meant for people like close friends. She wasn't opposed to the nickname, she just didn't really get it, or why the girl was insistent on calling her it.

Birds can fly wherever they want. They could fly right into the blue sky if they wanted.

"Uhhhh, Earth to Birdy, are you with me? What'cha writin' about?" the redhead tilted her head as far as she could to get a glimpse at Amber's open journal, but nearly lost her balance on the ladder. Amber quickly threw out a hand and helped her up. Her bed wasn't big by any means, but two people could comfortably sit on each end. It had become her favourite spot in her new home; the grassy spots outside were nice, and she enjoyed welcoming the mid-autumn winds cooling her skin, but it would soon be too cold for her to enjoy the outdoors. Canada was cold, and the winters were made more uncomfortable when you didn't have cold weather clothing. It was winter when people got sick, and everyone was packed together, and people started dying. Not many, perhaps a dozen or two each year from illness, infection, starvation. She felt safe in her nest, above the others.

"Not much, just stuff." She responded casually, showing her visitor the page of notes she'd been writing. Melody squinted and moved her face nearly against the page, trying to figure out what scribbles were which letters.
"Has anyone told you you're the worst at spelling? Jeez." She noted, more than a little confused, still trying to decipher the mess in front of her.

Amber laughed and prodded Melody's head away from her journal. "I'm fine at it. Not my fault you can't read." She noticed Melody's face drop a bit at that, and her eyes shifted to the side. "Oh, hey, look…I didn't mean…"

Melody immediately shot an impish grin at her. "You know, you always fall for that!" she giggled, rolling over onto her side. "Anyway, I came up wondering if you wanted to go out tonight. Jake and Selma are gonna go try to find more food and stuff." The redhead asked, excitedly.

Amber wasn't so excited at the prospect. "We get enough food here, and that fence is huge. We're in a part of town that I don't know well, and I don't know Jake and Selma enough to trust they know what they're doing. No thanks, Mel. Thanks for asking, but it's probably a bad idea, Mel."

"Awright, Birdy. You stay caged up like this, but one day you're gonna have to figure out why the early bird gets the worm." Melody joked, sliding down the ladder to her bunk.

Amber closed her journal and shoved it in the hollow she made in her mattress. That doesn't make any sense. Sometimes that girl is a little too weird for her own good.
She peered out the window and knew it wouldn't be long until the kids tried to escape for the night. They'd fail, most likely. Jake was only twelve, and Selma was a dim-witted thirteen year old.

Nothing to worry about.

She awoke to a sudden wind and gusts of snow; a winter storm was upon her. She scrambled out of her sheet reluctantly, packing it and her journal into her now-overstuffed pillowcase. These blizzards would come unexpectedly, dragging an unwelcome change of season with them. Trees would freeze, green life would die, and animals would starve or die by their prey. She looked overhead as the winds forced leaves to evacuate wholesale, throwing themselves to the dirt to help herald in the new growths of spring. Eventually. That would be their legacy. Without the canopy, nothing would help shelter her from the snow and hail, and it was too late to migrate. The air itself was chilling quickly, she could feel its embrace across her back as the branches thrashed overhead. For a moment, the shrieking of the Northern wind was all she could hear. It filled her ears, her lungs, her heart; she felt it reverberate within her core, slow her pulse, and she shivered in kind.

And then there was warmth. Despite the fury around her, she felt a warm song swirl around her neck. It was faint, and she strained her ears to hear it. It came in three short, muted bursts, and for a moment she forgot all about the storm around her, the snow caked upon her body, the frost blackening her fingers and toes. Three frail choking sobs.

Amber's eyes opened and met the darkness of pre-dawn. Sunrise was still a ways off yet, as she didn't see the eastern sky getting any brighter. She was always a restless sleeper, and it wasn't a surprise that her sheet wasn't covering her. As she felt for it, her hand touched something hard. Amber held her breath and could still hear the soft, muted sobs behind her; she wasn't used to this…whatever this was. Her bed was her sanctuary, and someone had probably come up and not noticed her there, disrupting her solitude.

She slowly turned her body over, trying not to let the mattress creak out in dismay. It took her eyes a few moments to focus on the figure nestled at the edge of her bed, wrapped in her sheet. Her breath caught sharply in her throat.

Melody?
She reached out for the shaking, sleeping figure a few inches away and cautiously pulled her up against her. She wasn't sure what to do, what would help, but she figured a hug might help. Those always seemed to help others, I think. Amber could feel her tunic get increasingly damp as the redhead sobbed into her sheet and chest. She just held onto her, and closed her eyes. It was cold tonight, and they could both use a little relief from the encroaching winter.

Amber woke, bleary-eyed, at just after sunrise. It'll be a clear, beautiful day, she thought with a smile, lifting her head to get a good look out the window before lowering her vision to the girl curled up against her. Well, maybe a troublesome beautiful day, but can anyone complain too much when the sun's rays are as warm as they are today? At least fall is giving us one last sigh of heat.

She rested her head back on the pillow and decided not to rush Melody awake. As uncomfortable as her wet shirt was, a shower and change of clothes could wait. She wanted to give her… friend… a decent sleep before she found out what caused her to come crying to her bed last night. She didn't think she had been that personable with the redhead, not that she was complaining. She smirked, thinking it was kind of nice, if unexpected, that someone would come to her for comfort. Amber had been solitary for the last few years, and it had probably helped keep her alive, but she had envied the closeness some others had with each other. You don't grow up as quickly when you can goof off with others. While she liked Melody enough, she wasn't sure it was the best idea to get all buddy-buddy with her.

For now, though, I won't second-guess her. She mused to herself in a soft whisper, closing her eyes and gathering her thoughts. Another nap might be a good idea.

Melody had woken up a few hours afterward, grasping onto Amber tightly. Her sobs came on like a storm, filling the whole room with her emotional maelstrom. Most of the kids were awake and outside, or hanging around the dining hall, which had become something of a meeting area, even when food wasn't being served; they wouldn't get many vocal protests this morning, especially on such a warm day. Amber, for her part, was silent.

The girl's words and sobs melded into each other to form a cohesive, unintelligible whole. One day, she'd have to return the favor and mock Melody for her poor speaking skills, but it certainly wasn't the time for that. She had kept the redhead up against her, stroking her hair to try and calm her down. This isn't working. Her thoughts drifted, trying to figure out how to put Melody more at ease.

Amber took the girl's head in her hands and put a bit of space between them, raising Melody's chin to get a better look at her face. With a thumb, she wiped away some of her tears, but they just kept coming.

"Mel, honey, you're safe here." She whispered, her right hand cupping the side of the girl's face. "And if you need to let it all out, then I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere. But I can't help you if I don't know what happened. Can I ask you something? Just…"
Amber placed a hand between Melody's. "…squeeze my hand tight if it's a yes. Can you do that?"

Melody answered with a squeeze, still sobbing. Jeez, what the heck happened last night? This girl is normally as bright as the morning.
"Did you get past the fence?" Her hand immediately felt crushed in a vice. This will leave a mark, she thought, grimacing.

"Did you three make it back?" Melody's grip lightened, but still clasped around her hand.

"Did one of you get lost?" No squeeze. Amber hesitated a little until the lump in her throat passed.

"Were you three attacked?" Again, Melody crushed Amber's hand, forcing a gasp from her.

"Did Jake make it back?" Her grip lightened. Shit.

"Did Selma make it back?" No squeeze. Oh no.

"Did the attacker see you?" she braced herself for the grip that Melody unleashed on her. Her hand was aching, but she was getting answers. She leaned in close to Melody and looked her in those swollen, bloodshot emerald eyes.

"Honey, you're safe now. No one is going to come past that fence after you. If you want…" Oh what the hell am I doing? I can't promise her safety…but I guess I can promise her I'll help her. "…you can stay up here with me if it makes you feel better. As long as you need."

The girl's sobs had lightened by then, but she was still crying up a minor flood. It had been a long time since Amber had a friend, or someone who trusted her, and she hated seeing Melody scared like this. That noted, she enjoyed feeling wanted and being somewhat of a protector, so it wasn't an entirely selfless endeavour. Her brow furrowed, this is going to be a lot more work, though. Still not likely a good idea.

She gently wiped the slowing tears from Melody, allowing a smile to spread across her lips when the redhead looked up, hopeful at Amber.

Eh, she's worth it. She needs someone. May as well be me.

"Now, just let me know when you're up for getting some food. There's no rush."

For the first time all day, Melody's eyes lit up.

As the ragged looking pair waded through the crowd in the dining hall, it was clear they were being watched closely. Melody wasn't as aware; she'd taken a while to cheer up enough to embark, and was pretty single-minded on getting food around dinnertime. Amber noticed some of the older kids at one of the larger tables had their eyes glued on them as they went to get their fill. Looking around for some of the staff, she recognized one or two orderlies and the cooking crew. Not enough help to get us out of this. I'll have to think on my feet. At least Hal is there, he could be of use.

She'd hoped they could eat without an incident, but she knew it probably wouldn't have been that easy. It had been a few months, and the gangs likely had more than a few orphans in their pockets. The two of them took their bowls of stew and Amber led the way to a table near an orderly. Gives me some time and space, at least.

The stew was unremarkable; bits of fake-beef, mostly vegetables like potatoes, carrots and celery. It tasted mediocre, but it was filling. It would keep them going for another day or two easily. She slowed her pace eating to give them more time once she noticed Melody scarfing hers back. Amber felt inside her pants pocket and found her sharpened pencil. God, I hope I won't need this. She took her last spoonful and couldn't help but give a tired laugh at how relieved Melody looked.

"Hey Mel, can you do me a favor?" the girl looked attentively at her, but unconcerned. Good. "Can you ask Hal to bring you to storage to get me a new pencil and journal? I ran out last night it won't take long. I promise. Just have him bring you back here too."

"Sure, Birdy!" Melody nodded, and went over to Hal. He was a pudgy, strange looking man with a huge set of wooly gray sideburns, but he had always been sweet to the kids. He was also huge, making him as good of a temporary bodyguard as any in the orphanage. As Melody and Hal left, she got up and walked over to the group of orphans who had been watching them for the past half hour. Most of them were guys, and looked to all be at least sixteen.

"You guys got nothing better to do than eye up some little girls?" she spoke with an edge to her voice, while moving across the floor; her eyes never halting her glare toward the group. Most of the guys laughed, muttered barely audible insults, or just shook their heads. One stared back, a tall, thickly built man-child with a sour look on his face.

"Your girlfriend saw something last night, we just want some time with her so she can fill us in." he said, monotonously.

"She killed Jake, bro, she has to…"one of the guys in the back yelled, but their alpha male shut him up with a glare before turning back to the thin thirteen year old in front of him.

"Like I said. She saw something, and we need to know what happened. She's gonna tell us." He repeated. Amber sighed. Boys. Why is it that all the orphans in gangs think that being vague makes them cool?

"Jake and Selma died last night; if your gang killed them, they'll want to kill Melody. If they didn't kill them, they have better things to do than 'talk' to my friend. So you're going to leave her alone." She was never one to mince words, and more often than not in past incidents she'd use her fists as diplomatic tools than words. She didn't want to take that risk here though, it was practically suicide.

Again, the group broke out in laughter, but the rest of the room had grown silent; small crowds had gathered to see what was going on. It was only a few minutes before the staff would force them all back to their living quarters. For once, she was grateful that everyone was segregated by age, with different rooms for different age groups. Come on, just a little bit longer she thought, as the group's presumed leader looked her over, shaking his head.

"Listen you little shit," he laughed, lowering his head. Well here goes nothing. "I don't…"

A heavy crack shot through the hall as Amber's steel bowl slammed into the boy's face, knocking him back, onto his friends who sat still in shock. She stood still in front of them, still grasping the bowl; blood dripped slowly into a growing pool beneath it. If I run now, they'll tear me apart, they'll smell fear. I really wished I held off on hitting him for a bit…where the heck are the staff?

The boy took a few moments to recover, but sat forward and stood up, wiping the blood off his face. He was probably a good half foot taller than her, and probably was another half of her weight. His first punch was fast, but she had already been ducking midswing, and her bowl collided with momentum to his groin. Grimacing, his second punch landed flush across Amber's face, sending her sprawled across the grimy floor. She had managed to get to her knees by the time the older boy made it over to her. Reaching into her pocket as he lifted her up by her shirt, she slammed the pencil into his forearm with both her hands, at least an inch deep. He howled and recoiled in pain, collapsing backward and falling onto the floor. Amber just fell and slumped against a table. Everything was blurry, and she could hear a lot of loud noises start to fade out as her vision went.