Laura's hand pauses, half-outstretched, where she'd been about to touch one of the corpses' sleeves. They're as much curiosity as horror, smelling more of dust than rot to her. And in a room drenched in the odor of blood, that's something else to focus on.

"Something burnt them." This, too, in Orlesian. That's what the marks on them look like--to her, at least.