This time it was the smoky interior of one of the thatched cottages. The old woman lay on a bed below a dark window. Candlelight illuminated her sunken features. She was clearly dead
.
Kaerin's black-cloaked figures stood over the bed, talking in hushed whispers.
"They say he touched the oracle, the day before she died. His hands were red and raw, like he'd been frostbitten. Frostbitten in the middle of a sunlit afternoon!"
"I say he made it happen," a female voice whispered. "The deathplague wormed through his fingers and killed the oracle. Any of us could be next. Don't let him touch you. He's got death in his hands!"
