"Can we fort up and hold them off?" Marius asked as a pair of arrows clattered of the dilapidated stone work, sparking there crude head against rock. Natasha muttered a vile Kislivite oath. There was a well armed and provisioned fortress on the other side of the river, but even if they reached it they would be murdered because of some southern nonsense she didn't understand.

"Meybe if piwdeer not soyaked," she complained, though it was likely enough that this was a scouting party and they had already sent for more of their foul kind. More arrows curvetted through the air though they were far to poorly aimed to be any threat. They needed time to rest the horses but there was no chance of that now.

"Ivan vould be insuuferible," Natsaha grimaced.

"What?" Marius asked.

"Always..." she put on a gruff masculine voice which made her even harder to understand in mockery of her uncle Ivan, "Tasha, a bow vill navar jam, Tasha you can yis a bow in the ryain, Tasha if you mess vith arrow you don't have to buy new..." The volume of braying was increasing by the moment, and a dozen more beasts had appeared to join the first wave. They must have misjudged the number of humans sheltering in the mill given they hadn't simply charged the place. That wasn't far off though as they were clearly working themselves up into a frenzy. Natasha looked up at the ruins of the old mill.

"Geyet hirses ready to ride," she instructed and launched herself upwards, catching onto a rotting beam and hauling herself upwards to the next tier of the mill.

"What are you doing?" Marius demanded but she didn't have time to describe it. Instead she climbed the crumbling stone until she reached the ancient and rusted pin that secured the skeletal blades. She braced herself against the rock and kicked, sending up a shower of rusted metal. Grunting with effort she kicked again, and then a third time. The pin gave with a crash and the sails dropped, landing on the slope and beginning to tumble. The sound was colossal, like a shipwreck Natasha imagined, as the old rotten wood turned end over end partially shattering with each turn as it tumbled down the hill towards the milling beastmen. It was disintegrating as it went but it had enough momentum that it carried itself down hill in showers of splinters. The braying beasts broke and ran for the safety of the woods, squealing in apparent terror as the blades truck the treeline with an almighty crash that shook dust from every poorly motared joint of the old mill. Natasha slithered down and climbed into the saddle. Marius had already led the beasts behind the mill so their escape, although in the wrong direction to reach Wolfenburg was at least shielded by the mouldering pile of rubble. They spurred off into the rain, heading down the hill and into the darkness, leaving pursuit, for now, behind them.