[ Silas thinks about it, knuckle under nose, the harder carve of his frown masked by the crook of his hand where it’s rested. The bones in his face are especially sharp when still.

Against his neck, a needle tongue feathers there and gone again from some creature buried beneath the turn of his collar. ]

I am discouraged.

[ That’s an apt word for it, upon his reflection. ]

I cannot in good conscience bring blighted materials back to the Gallows for study. They are best investigated in the field, where conditions are difficult to control.