The boy slowly took his hand out from under his armpit, balling his fist. It was slick with blood, and the right side of his tunic was already stained. Slowly, with immense concentration, he held the arm forward, unclenching his fingers. There seemed to be blood-drenched flaps hanging down from his palm, fluttering with the anxious tremors running down his arms.
He spread his fingers. Simon saw the blood was emanating from between
his fingers - when they were finally splayed wide, the hedge wizard saw the truth of the matter. The hanging flaps were thin webs of skin that had been stretched from digit to digit - until the boy had taken some sort of blade to them, cutting deep into the valleys between his fingers, and leaving the ragged edges of the flesh to hang horribly about the wounds.
All of you can see this, not just Simon.