They arrived at the hanging tree in the blue-gray dusk. Erelle’s stomach was a nest of red ants, biting and churning. The healer’s potion had done nothing. Why had she trusted that charlatan?
Tibyr was quiet and grim. He looked up at the tree like it was a giant foe sent to crush him. He looked afraid. Erelle had never seen Tibyr afraid.
The healer had said this was the place. “Dig where the souls have departed, where their last effluence stains the ground.” Had he lied about that as well? There was no turning back now.
So they dug.