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Summary
Ironeye’s chest rots but doesn’t bleed. The blood has left him long ago, but he can see the lining of his flesh, a hint of his bone, tendons and muscles loose with atrophy. And Wylder’s hand is curiously testing the waters, giving breadth from the cavity but still running along the fleshy lining of the opening. It is just that: fleshy. It gives Wylder the same impression as when he prepares raw meat: slightly slick, tender, fatty.
