The runed book grows hot as Abia nears the fang. Its intensity seems tied to her proximity to the sharp, violet object — as her fingertips approach the object, the book sears her other hand. She grits her teeth but the pain is relentless, so to relieve it, she steps back.
“What in the world was that?” Cang asks.
“Book burn my fingers,” Abia says. “Don’t want me to touch fang.”
“Oh please. If the rotund blacksmith possessed it, surely it can do no harm.”
“Cang,” Shyan cuts in. “Abia usually knows about this kind of thing. I mean, look at the weird symbols on her book.”
“Runes,” Abia says simply.
“Yes, more occultism,” Cang says, shaking his head. He looks over his fingers, which Fassn’s god had so recently restored to working order. He perks up. “Perhaps these divinely blessed digits of mine will be more up to the task.”
Before anyone can stop him, Cang scoops up the fang.