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Summary
It came sudden. His friends head snapped around, fanthomless eyes staring directly at him. One pale hand reached out and took hold of his arm, fingers as long as spider-legs which dug themselves painfully into his flesh.
“Find me.”
Hob awoke with sweat sticking to his brow, breath caugh in his lungs, with shaking hands he pushed back his fringe.
And stared.
There on his arm, just below his left elbow and clearly visible on his tan skin were indents, a row of half-moons, remnants from spindly fingers with long nails, leaving in their wake quickly fading marks.
What if Dream of the Endless had retained a small fraction of his power while being held captive by Roderick Burgess?
What if his power had been just enough to keep sending small messages to the only man that had ever dared to call him “friend”?