Some sins bury themselves. Others grow claws. Zaria is about to meet hers in the flesh.

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~ZARIA~

I wake to screaming.

Not fear. Not pain. Rage.

I throw back the flap of my tent just in time to see one of the northern scouts tackle a healer to the dirt. Blood is everywhere. Claw marks rake down the healer’s face like someone tried to carve a truth into his bones.

"STOP!" I shout, stepping forward.

The scout doesn’t listen.

He shifts. Right there. ...