The undead beast lept at her, two great big paws stretching in the air with toes spread out, hooked white claws glinting in the dismal sunlight. Its maw opened wide in anticipation of the kill, brandishing rotten and broken fangs, black-splotched tongue curling, swollen thick and full of writhing maggots the size of her thumb. There was no way to fight the thing head-on, not in Hajra’s mind. [i]Have to move.[/i] She side-stepped to the right quick as she could, felt the matted fur brush past her shoulder and the side of her face, trying to get round the large oblong stone jutting from the ground like a lifted finger. She tried but fell on her ass, hard, legs shooting out from under her. Hard enough to feel something move in her skull, she thought. Hajra was thankful that the dead feel no pain, for that lick would’ve smarted for sure. The beast thudded into the tree trunks that had been at her back, but she had kept her eyes on the thing the whole time. The two trees shook, sending down the bits of ice clinging to the branches and pine-needles, making a rustling sound. Huge legs kicking, claws scraping on the frozen ground, righting itself in a frantic tantrum and staring back. Dead eyes locked on hers and almost felt hot with murderous intent. It was the closest thing to warmth she’d felt in a long time, that murderous glare. It seemed to Hajra Longshadow that they had that in common, the beast and her. Two things. The hunt and the kill. The only two things that made her feel anything close to being alive. There was no pleasure in undeath, even food and drink tasted of nothing. But, the hunt and the kill still gave that same old rush. Those two things she could always depend on. [i]Have to move.[/i] She pushed herself off the ground with one hand, steadying herself against the boulder with the other, still gripping the hilt of the sword tight. She wanted to back round the boulder, to at least put something between that hulking monster and her despite the futility of it. She wanted to but it gave her no time and charged, letting out a rattling roar that would have been bloodcurdling if she had any blood. It bit at her and she lunged sideways, not even trying to land on her feet this time. [i]What’s the point?[/i] She’d just fall on her ass again. She thought about how she’d explain [i]that[/i] one to the meatworkers. [i]Yes, I found enemies in the north. I fought them and returned with a broken ass.[/i] It plowed by, missing again. Her shoulder slammed the ground, bounced, and she slammed down again on her back. She was sliding away from the trees, into the clearing--the wrong direction. She tried to get up, but her foot was caught. Now that she was up close, Hajra realized that the thing was bigger than a horse. Much bigger. She could see the harness wrapped round the beast, faded leather straps full with metal hooks and buckles, and now her foot. Somehow her foot had gotten caught on one of the hooks, and tangled in the mass of leather and fur. Its pace slowed, turning back and dragging her with it, jerking its head this way and that searching for where its prey had gone. She chanced a glance over to the clearing, just now hearing the sounds of fighting by the campfire. Two ghouls lay dead a few strides away from the hole and discarded shovels, skulls caved in and oozing black and grey sludge. She could see Hodjens, the big brute, swinging his longsword at the old Pigskin in long wide arcs. Broke-nose and the third ghoul wasn’t there. [i]Right, boys. You take them and leave this monster to me. I’ve got it right where I want it.[/i] She went to swing at the straps with her sword, realized her hand was empty, cursed, then pulled out her dagger. She climbed her own leg up to the tangle of leather, grabbed hold tight, and started cutting. It turned its head and bit at her, not able to reach. The woods spun in a blurring circle as the beast turned, trying to bite her like a dumb city dog chasing its own tail. Hajra held on long enough to cut herself free, let go, and slid a few strides away. It closed the distance before she stopped, and leaned back on its hind legs, standing upright. She looked around for something, [i]anything[/i], that she could use. She had the dagger in her hand, but little good that’d be. The arrows were scattered across the clearing, thrown about during the struggle. Those wouldn’t do her much good either. She’d lost her sword too but had no idea where it was, and the blades the ghouls had were out of reach. There were two shovels, one laying next to her and she tossed away the dagger, took hold of the shovel, brought it up as the beast came down roaring. She angled the head of the shovel to its chest and set the other end to the ground, letting go and rolling away when it connected, doing all she could to avoid being smashed into Kotzan jam. Hajra had seen the meatworks do some incredible, if not disturbing things, but she didn’t think they could fix her from that. The roar stopped short, replaced by a rasping and a scraping sound. The wooden handle of the shovel snapped apart, the beast falling to the ground kicking. Hajra stood and moved closer, snatching up the other shovel, avoiding the legs kicking aimlessly. It was more difficult than she would’ve liked. Her foot was twisted round, pointing to the side and forcing her to limp. The beast was worse off. Its spine was damaged; it wasn’t able to make its body do what it wanted. The shovel-head had slid up the ribs and sank into its neck, almost cutting its head clean off. She turned the shovel sideways in her hands, raised it high above her head, and swung down. Its neck crunched and the head fell free wobbling onto its side. The twitching and jerking stopped, maggots wriggling out of the wounds, dragging out bits of rotten gore and putrified flesh and spilling out onto the ground at her feet. She brought the shovel down again on the head, and then again. She kept hammering at that twice-cursed beast from the Ground until the thick skull caved. Hodjens and Chief were still fighting, the old man dodging and blocking against the barrage, not able to get a strike in. Chief was holding his own, but she knew it wouldn’t last for long. Hodjens attacked tirelessly without slowing and could keep that up for as long as he needed, but the old man was wearing down. Beads of sweat ran down the pig-skinned mortal despite the cold, brows furrowed in exertion. Hajra gripped the shovel tight and limped round carefully, keeping out of sight of Chief and making sure she didn’t slip, fall, and behead herself. [i]After everything that’s happened today, it would be just my luck.[/i] She stalked up behind Chief-- if her slow shambling could be called stalking, and whacked him on the back of his skull. Hodjens stopped swinging and stood there, his longsword hanging loosely in one hand, and they both watched the mortal sag to his knees. Dark blood slowly seeped out, staining his white hair deep red. Chief looked up at Hodjens for a long moment, then fell forward on his face still grasping his sword. Hajra peeled his fingers away from the grip and picked it up. “Where is Broke-nose?” She asked. Hodjens nodded over to the shallow hole by the torches. “The hell was that?” He looked over to the headless beast behind her. “A demon?” She guessed. Hajra made her way to the grave, using the shovel like a walking stick, leaned over the edge, and peered down. He looked back up at her and shrugged. He had a large gash in his gut, looked as if he’d been run through. A thick piece of his cloak tied about his waist, wet with grime and who knows what else. Two ghouls lay in the dirt about his feet, motionless and taken care of; one’s head smashed into grey and pink pulp. She slid the sword in her belt and held out her hand, pulled him out of the hole, and pointed at Chief. “Bind him. I’ve got some questions for him when he wakes.” He nodded and glided over to them as if he was walking on a dry city street. He couldn’t fight for shit, never could, but he was as sure-footed as he ever was. She had known both Hodjens and Broke-nose for years before her service to the Great Necromancer, but only she kept her memories. Hajra had found it strangely interesting how that affected them. Some things were different, of course, but a lot stayed the same. Broke-nose had been an infiltrator, far better at sneaking and balance than Hodjens or her. He had more brains than them, too--at least he used to. Hajra reckoned that the [i]old[/i] Broke-nose would have known what that beast was that she killed, but she didn’t bother asking him now. She knew he’d have no idea. He used to make all the plans, set up all the jobs for the crew, pretty much led them. She was in charge now, and after two years it still seemed strange. Broke-nose clamped the iron shackles on Chief’s wrists behind his back and left him face-down on the ground. Hajra moved about the clearing, collecting all of her arrows, her sword, and her dagger. Hodjens was rummaging through the packs by the campfire when she made her way beside Broke-nose. He handed her the scabbard for the Chief’s sword, and she put the blade in it and placed it back at her side, behind her belt. It was a good weapon, made from good steel. Hajra appreciated good weapons. It would be a lot easier to maintain weapons up here in the north. The rain south was almost a constant, with dark skies that blocked the sun. An archer’s worst nightmare, to be sure. The damp warped shafts and bows, and ruined bowstrings. Sometimes, if a bow got wet and then dried out, it would crack and get dry rot. That’s what happened to her bow, she reckoned. Hodjens emptied one pack on the ground, travel rations as far as she could tell, and was stuffing it full of items he thought worth keeping. He sauntered back to them and held out the pack. It was full of aqua vitae, the glass bottles sparkling in the light. “You didn’t happen to see a bow over there?” She asked. “Nah,” he closed the pack and threw it over his shoulder, “Bunch of junk.” “Figures.” Hajra looked down at the mortal. He was starting to move, slowly, his shoulders working back and forth. She pulled out her dagger and grinned, thinking of the answers she was going to cut out of him. Maybe there were more than two things after all.