She opened her mouth then, her throat tight, her heart hammering. So afraid, so afraid of it, even as it hung around her neck, hot and alive. She wanted to tell him about the dreams, about the visions of panic and rich agony that always translated into a low hum of hunger beneath her skin come dawn. She wanted to ask him if he... if he thought she was hurting people in fantasy, while her vision-flesh burned and grew slick, or if she might have been walking around beyond their tent and...