The Psychopomp

"I got a bite here," Serenica said, having a hard time believing her own bad luck.

She could not recognize the species, but blue was the color of waves. It was the color of death.

She feared, not for her life, but for all things she was leaving unfinished.

"Let me look at it," Spade said.

Suddenly men were flocking around her, taking her hand into their own hands, calloused skin comforting her, and she felt protected.

It was such a pity that the protection was coming too late for her.

Perhaps it was the poison working already or perhaps it was her own mind playing tricks on her, but in any case she felt dizzy.

"We'll fix it. It's going to be all right," someone said as she fell on her knees.

She did not understand how this could be fixed. She had made a careless move, now the healer needed healing, and no one had any supplies.

She realized she was still fully conscious, and not in pain, at least not yet.