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This was a fucking nightmare. 

Lilann had seen plenty of death in her time, especially in the past few days. She was used to the way it looked, how it smelled, and how it affected the less obvious senses, like comfort and guilt. She was not, however, used to seeing it [i]move[/i]. So when the dead wolves burst from the brush and charged them, she took a moment to check whether or not she was dreaming. 

As it turned out this was not, in fact, a fucking nightmare.

Ceolfric and Ermes leapt into action, brave boys that they were. Lilann’s focus shifted quickly to the wolve rushing towards her. She clutched her whittling knife and reeled it back, flooding it with her aether—only to see the dark blur of a waterskin hurtle past her at the beast. A moment later, she registered the hazy shouting she’d heard a moment prior as Kyreth crying out her name. He must have thrown it. A brave boy in his own way.

It wouldn’t be enough she guessed, even if the wolf had been living. So, with a sharp whistle, and the somatic propulsion of the throw, she launched her knife after it. It sailed arrow-fast, guided more by will than anything—which was for the best, she was an awful shot with a bow. As it drew close she curled her fingers in and twisted her hand, shouting: “[color=skyblue]Down![/color]” Heeding her call, the knife angled down following an intuitive marriage of her motion and her intent. 

Her goal wasn’t to take its legs; the blade was small and even if she managed to slice one it would just keep coming. Instead, her aim was the back of its neck, or its back, to pierce in and press it to the ground. With any luck—and a fair bit of aether—she hoped to pin it there until Kyreth or Ceolfric or anyone, even fucking [i]Cerric[/i] could come take the damn thing’s head off like Eila was instructing them to do.