Brother and sister are on the move, hopping from town to town. Hoping to find answers to their questions. Where are their parents? The father? A deadbeat, having ditched his children long ago. The mother? She vanished from the face of the earth more than a decade ago. 

But more important than that, was the state the brother's arm is in.

The black-haired boy sits on a stone bench and holds up his right arm. His obsidian fingers and hand seem to have a mind of their own, writhing about. The appendage is pitch black, save for the bright red markings running across his arm. His shoulder seems to be stopping the oozing black mass that is his arm, the borders of the darkness racing across the shoulder. It looks like a buzzsaw honestly. Sometimes the boy fears it will chop his arm from his shoulder. 

He shakes his head. If that were the case it might have happened a month ago already.

The boy snaps out of his daze when he sees his sister approaching. Holding two paper bags. 

"Here's your lunch, Drayden." She hands him the bag, which he grabs with his good arm.

"Thank you." He nods. Taking a bite of his croissant.

"Phe shwould go pwo Phwarchur neggss." 

"Sorry, what?" His sister raises an eyebrow. 

"We should go to Tarchur next." The brother says after swallowing his food. "We can walk there on foot. It's a big city, so maybe they can help us out? Maybe they know what this is." He looks at his right arm.

"You're sure that is a good idea?" She said skeptically. "You've been avoiding towns because of that thing. What makes you think Tarchur won't freak out as well?" The sister plops down on the bench.

"It's not like I'm going into town alone for the fun of it." A slight smirk curls on her face.

"Well, you know what they say. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Better one boar in the pot than ten in the forest. Or something like that." Drayden says. 

His sister pulls up her coat. "Fair enough."