The arrow's shaft gleams black as charred bone, feathers brittle and gray like desiccated leaves, its iron tip etched with faint, pulsing veins that ooze a viscous, acrid sap. It hums faintly with necrotic hunger, drawing moisture from the air into tiny cracks along its length. When loosed, it whistles through the wind, leaving trails of frost-kissed decay in its wake.