“And your hand?” Lightsong asked.

The man paused, unconsciously retracting his hand. “It got twisted. Nothing important.”

“And you need a bandage for a twisted wrist?” Lightsong said, raising an eyebrow. “Show me.”

The man hesitated.

“Show me, or lose your soul, my son,” Lightsong said in what he hoped was a suitably divine voice.

The man slowly extended his hand. Llarimar stepped forward and removed the bandage.

The hand was completely grey, drained of color.

Impossible, Lightsong thought with shock. Awakening doesn’t do that to living flesh. It can’t draw color from someone alive, only objects. Floorboards, clothing, furniture.