detached, her mind focused so she wouldn’t vomit.
She learned from the medicas which “horrors” perpetrated each wound. Apparently the Chevaliers had been unlucky enough to run into a combination of all three major horrors.
The long, deep and razor-thin slices were from “renders.” The easiest to mend with Power. “Slayers” had duller claws but poisonous spines. Elizabeth helped flush the poison from the Chevalier’s system, through the skin pores, which was gross enough to remind her of her beginning days of med school. Little round bumps left from “soul-suckers” showed a deadening of the skin around the wounds. Physical life force had been drawn from that injury.
What was even more incredible to Elizabeth was that sometimes the Chevaliers wouldn’t get help if they felt the wounds weren’t severe enough.
Any wound was dangerous in Elizabeth’s mind. The Lladranans had a different point of view. A very, very tough people.
A people who’d been at war for a long time.
Bri woke from her nap feeling restless. She tried to reach Elizabeth telepathically and was reassured when she touched her twin’s sleeping mind. They’d be able to communicate mentally, then. She wandered through the rooms, feeling like the greatest fraud. This wasn’t her; usually she shared small rooms with other women of her ilk. What would she do if she were in a new place on Earth? She’d go out. Even if she was unsure of the language, she’d unpack then hit the streets. Something was always going on outside if she didn’t want to stay in.
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