Dawn found them both somewhat stiff, but otherwise ready to face the day.
Madoc, chewing thoughtfully on a bite of sausage, flexed his left hand slowly. “That’s strange,” he said, once he’d swallowed. “It doesn’t hurt. At all. Not numb or anything, it just feels… normal, I guess.”
Tyrel finished the last of his bread and rearranged himself so he could reach.
He unwrapped the bandage around his brother’s arm cautiously, but with increasing perplexity. The last of it came free, baring the unmarked skin of Madoc’s lower arm. Only the dark dried bloodstains on the bandage, and the lingering traces on Madoc’s arm, proved that it had ever been wounded—and judging by the amount of blood on the bandage, it had been a messy one.
“What the hell…?” Madoc stared at his arm. Slowly, he flexed his hand again, then his arm. “This makes no sense. It bit me, I know it did.”
“Apparently the damage it inflicts doesn’t last much longer than its body after it’s killed,” Tyrel said.
“You think that’s it? I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
“Neither have I, but it’s all I can think of to explain this. I wonder if there’s anything in Forester lore about this kind of thing.”
“Well, let’s get going, so we can get home and see what we can learn.” He paused in the middle of shoving leftovers back into his pack. “This couldn’t be part of the whole testing thing, could it? Some kind of ghost animal ambush thing to see how we react?” Continue reading