The stench of the creature's lair had grown thicker as they stalked through the black wood, unable to see more than a few feet in any direction.  The waft of rotten meat, the pang of stale urine, a heavy miasma of tortured sweat and the rich, hungry scent of human blood all choked her by degrees, growing unbearable as the Inquisitor drew them to the entrance and they were at last able to see inside.  Torn skin.  Rancid disembodied limbs.  The scuttling of a thousand crawling insects.  It was too much.  She doubled up with a wet, noxious gurgle, hanging onto Gregor's back, her stomach heaving.  She heard him curse, searching the wood with urgent, paranoid alertness, and she straightened up, coughing tightly, breathing through her mouth and darting her fearful eyes across the stark, threatening blackness.  A branch snapped somewhere in the dark and she flinched.  The presence of the unseen, unknown beast stalking them was as palpable as the senseless fear of a child's nightmare.

"Wood," she gasped, looking around quickly, "A fire.  Better we can see."