Ash cleaned the blood off as she tainted the streambed, but not the fat that clung on stubbornly still, yellow and white mixed with pale chips of bone and tendon. Matteo’s own hands bit against his blade as he fumbled through the murky, bloody water for it. The pain was neglible though, compared to his skull splitting headache, and after a few times, he was able to sheath the knife into his belt once more. Muu, by the dying embers of their firepit, sobbed quietly, her show of weakness unbothered by whatever other monstrous denizens wandered the wilderness.

Off in the distance, the “wuoracc wuoracc” of the retreating goblin continued to sound, growing fainter and fainter. Their enemy was leaving. They were allowed this moment of peace amongst the stench of cooked rabbit, ashes, and blood. So the trio, for all of Ash’s directives, did nothing.

And as their blood continued to flow, as their injuries worsened, as their flesh turned paler and paler, they could just barely hear it, the “hraccc hraccc” of [i]another[/i] monster’s cry. 

They had yet to leave the woods, after all.