Azandra POV

Weather Moon, in her human form, lay on the floor of Tulaska’s home, a rug under her, with Tulaska shaking her medicine rattle over the patient.

The skin on Weather’s forearm looked like someone had permanently dyed it. The same sickly colors as Kyon’s original wound covered her forearm from wrist to elbow. She gazed at it, her lip curling. “I look like a freak,” she said. “I told that spirit, beast, whatever it was, to leave me ...