The old texts spoke of the great darkness that would fall across the land, how it would cut out all light, leaving nothing in its wake. Here it was, only it wasn’t cold or quiet, but a blister against the skin and carrying the pure stench of death. That’s what she was, yet when I placed my hand in hers, I felt warmth there, her touch soft and protective, not hurtful. Maybe that’s what Cedaar saw in her, too.
