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Ah right, the botfly. Can't forget her.

As though just mentioning her presence was enough to bridge some indefinable gap between them, Bina now feels the creature's presence like a wet pressure against her skin.

Her arm, the bad one, long quiescent, itches again. She isn't even sure if there's still a puncture wound under the bandages somewhere, but it feels like someone has poured lemon juice, or live ants right into it.