Rain turned his colorless hair into moonlight-white. Lightning flashed in the sky, sharp slashes of energy reflected in the momentary pitch-black of his eyes.
The mother’s cries pierced above the ominous veil of thunder, and he had to strain to hear the voice of her child. The third wound in his shoulder began to tingle and itch when he heard the first lusty cry of infant life.
He sensed it, moments later, when the mother’s life flickered, then faded, as if swept away in the driving wind. In the distance, a caravan approached. They would find the child.
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