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115 | A SPLINTERED ARMY

I looked down at my leg, the burn in it seeming to grow as I gave it my full attention, trepidation making my chest feel tight. Infected? No – it couldn’t be. I was a werewolf, after all; a slash of claws like that should have already begun to heal, even if it had not yet healed entirely.

“Infected?” I repeated, my voice sounding too quiet, and strangely tinny, to my own ears. “How can it be infected already?”

My leg was stuck out straight. Red stained what was left of my trousers, and tattered slips of fabric fell limply to the wooden slats of the floor. The claw marks cut deep, and their edges were raw and dark and angry and swollen. It still burned, even hours after I’d been clawed; by now, it would usually feel like a dull throb, if anything at all. I winced and dragged myself into a better seated position, pulling my knee up slowly so that I could inspect the injury.

Peeling back the makeshift bandages, I wrinkled my nose. It smelt rotten.

“That bloody wolfsbane,” muttered Nana
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