Nevan
Rosamund's screams pierced the empty village as the blight curled around her fingers, making its way up her arm.
"Rosamund," I was at her side in two strides, catching her wrist before she could claw at the line which was already spreading across her skin. "Hey, hey!" I held her face, forcing her to look at me. "Stop screaming; it will not help you."
"What is this?" she cried, her eyes widening with fear. "What is this, Nevan? Please, I don't want to die."
"You won't die," I assured her. "Listen to me and do as I have instructed; stop panicking."
But she wasn't listening to me. Her eyes were locked on her hand and on the dark veins branching up past her wrist, splitting and multiplying beneath her sleeve. She was shaking so hard her teeth were rattling.
I knew what this was. I had seen it on livestock, on trees, on the walls of buildings and the skin of villagers who had wandered too close to the Stretch without knowing what waited there.
