Startled, she did stop but held the shard at the ready. The tip was touching the skin on her throat just over the carotid artery, and if she simply ignored the voice, she could still die right now. Today.
But where had it come from?
It was a voice. No, only a whisper.
Not a shout from Yokosh or Gordek. It was only a breath that was floating in the air.
“Only my mind,” she said. Her heart raced, and her breathing was fast. She sensed someone. She thought she heard a drop of blood from her thumb hit the floor. The skin around the cut was white, though, not bleeding. Tiny soft cobwebs seemed to catch on the goosebumps of her arms, like a soft cloak, warm, inviting peace and comfort. Salty blood, sweet blood. Sweetness.
A shadow moved in the far corner.
“Linsora, over here.”
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