The courtyard of Oakhaven Manor was a chorus of misery. The sudden influx of five hundred refugees had turned the pristine silver grass into a trampled camp of mud and panic. The air was thick with the sounds of crying children and the low moans of the wounded. The protective dome of the World Tree kept the purple smog of the Demon Realm at bay. The atmosphere inside the walls was breathable and pure. But the people who had crossed the threshold brought the corruption in with them.
Valeria knelt in the dirt beside a young farmer. He was propped up against a wooden cart. His right arm was deeply gouged by the claws of a Shadow Beast. The wound was not bleeding red blood. It oozed a thick and viscous black fluid that smelled of rotting sulfur.
"Hold him still," Valeria ordered Thorne.
The massive Bear beastman placed his heavy hands on the farmer's shoulders and pinned him to the ground.
