Infante

There was noise at the side of the building, suggesting creatures were making their way outside.  I could see only hints of it – some weren’t acid-proof, and they shied away from the rainwater, getting in the way of any that were.

A weaker Tangle was draped across the street far below us, long, thin, not quite integrated, its pale silhouette being that of a snake.  It was trying to fold itself together into something functional and strong, but it had been damaged, and its attempts to knit itself together were trying and failing to turn gaping wounds into something functional.  Lying as it was in the puddles, the effect of the rain was far outweighing the harvesters’ ability to piece it together or make it functional.  It looked like the flesh would slough from the bone soon enough.

> > [...]

I saw the Infante, standing in the street.  He let the rain wash over him.  His flesh was bleaching and mottling less than the high quality fabric of the Duke of Francis’ cloak.

https://twigserial.wordpress.com/2017/08/26/crown-of-thorns-20-9/