Attempt Eighteen.
Gray stood at the edge of the offspring's maw with both broken teeth in his hands, their uneven weight dragging slightly at his wrists.
The surface of each one was goomy slick, and he made a quiet effort not to think about what coated them as he adjusted his grip, once, then again, until the positioning felt as stable as he could manage under the circumstances.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
"…Timing," he murmured under his breath.
[Two seconds.]
"I know."
Fwissh!
The moment he stepped out, his body dropped low out of habit, his momentum carrying him forward in a clean, direct line rather than the rolling motion he had relied on before.
There was no wasted movement now, no unnecessary shift in balance.
Both teeth struck the ridge almost at the same time, driven forward by the full weight of his body.
The first lodged into place.
The second slipped slightly at an angle.
The gap opened, but not enough.
