The blaze cracked and popped. The plastic melted away, the core of the fire white hot as it greedily consumed the corrupt corpse. The wind changed and the flames leaped, carrying the fetid, hot smell to the back of the truck. With no way to escape its rancid reach, Darce slammed his shoulders against the metal behind him, every instinct he had recoiling from the sheer wrongness.
He shoved his nose hard against his own arm to block out the smell and tried to breathe through his ears while he watched over his arm. Even though her sense of smell had to be equal to his, she stood motionless. Watched the fire burn brightly. A lone sentinel paying last respects for the dead.
Melancholy washed over him. Would anyone care enough to stand over his body? Would she?
Fire. The great cleanser. Like
