The hand was skeletal, like that of a corpse, but it was not bestial, retaining a human form.
Moreover, the owner of the hand was also humanoid, with no bestial features.
He stepped out from behind Mira. The moonlight fell upon him, revealing a withered, almost fleshless face.
His skin, like dried parchment, was stretched taut over his cheekbones and jaw. His eye sockets were deep-set, and his eyeballs were murky and yellow, like discolored glass beads.
He wore a tattered robe of an unrecognizable color, its hem shredded into strips. Below it, two shins as thin as dead branches were visible.
But his spine was ramrod straight, like a stone monument planted in the earth.
Mira whirled around, her gray-blue eyes wide. "Who are you?"
The old man didn't answer her question.
