"Whatever comes..." He breathed, echoing her words. Not out of mockery, rather he spoke it to himself as if in litany. He did not looked at her witchery; not at first, anyway. A portion of himself felt the incantation she was performing was exactly what he had dedicated his life to expunging from the world, but he pushed the thought away. That was not true. Emmeralda was odd, conniving, and even a criminal likely, but she was not evil. It was nothing he himself had never done before. Her magic, if it could be called that, was not the enemy. 

As she began to weave her hands and chant, he set his traveler's pack onto the hard clump of sand on the dilapidated floor where the earth met the beach, and produced a clump of berries, picked from a flying rowan. He unsheathed his sword with his right hand, crushed the berries in his left, and smeared them along the blade. As he did so, the iron bit his hand, drawing a small stream of blood. He placed the coated blade on his lap, took his right hand, and smeared his fingers across the bloodberry concoction, before he drew an elaborate, twisting knot upon his forehead. 

There was a low, feral rumble that emanated from the shadows. It was hard to hear over the soft movement of the surf and Emmeralda's spellweaving. The wind whistled, carrying over the waves like a living thing. No, there it was again. A low rumble. It was unmistakable. 

Will had heard the growls of feral dogs. Will had heard the guttural screams of wolves. He had even heard the desert hounds of Khandal and their strange laugh. However, he had never heard something so malevolent. He grabbed the torch he had brought, plucking it out of the sand and holding it high. The flame flickered in the wakening wind, his slick sword dripping fresh blood, staining the white sand. The growling grew louder, and as he watched, one of the shadows amongst the shrubs came alive. It drifted closer, a ghastly thing that seemed incorporeal until it stepped onto the sand, giving it shape and form. Red eyes stared at him, and a fanged maw, too stout for a wolf, opened to reveal jagged teeth. Will was no coward, but he felt his pulse racing at the sight of the huge, deadly [i]thing[/i]. It was the size of a small pony, if he had to guess, and it did not seem a stupid beast. 

Its details were hard to make out in the oppressive gloom, but other than the rough form of a canine, it was unlike anything he had ever seen in the world. One moment, he thought its back was covered in spines, and the next he felt its paws were human-like hands. Just as he imaged its tail was spiked, it was a shadowy blur, a snarl erupting simultaneously with its movements. Will held his sword out, point first, keeping his torch before him like a beacon against the darkness. He saw the creature loping impossibly fast, and as it hit the sandbank and spun to charge him, he whirled, but kicked out with his foot. Sand flew into the beast's face, but the dirty trick didn't deter the thing, only the torch seemed to cause it to flinch. He sidestepped its flying body, slashing with his blade. It bit the thing's flank, and he was rewarded with a yelp. 

He felt a renewed sense of relief, perhaps even a bit of hope. It could be hurt, which meant it could be killed. A bullet would likely do nothing, but the sword could wound it. He followed the path of its launching body, but as he turned, he found it was gone. Suddenly he was hit from behind, heavy claws digging into his back. He flung the torch behind his head, causing the thing to scream so loud, he felt it was near the keening wail of a banshee. He knew if he had not thought quickly, it would have bitten his head off. He flipped his sword and stabbed, the point burying itself in something solid behind his back. He twisted the blade, a terrible sucking noise and the stench of something foul followed. 

Will stumbled forward, but spun to face the thing, and got a his left leg bludgeoned by an immense blow from a paw for the trouble. Blood bubbled from the wound, but it looked to be the last effort of a dying beast. It roared, albeit weakly, red eyes alight and mangy, blue-grey fur visible in the light of the fallen torch. Will grimaced at his wounds, but held his feet steady just long enough to drive his sword blade into the dark face of the shadow-hound. It squealed loudly, but even as it began to slump, its body melded into the shadows once more, sliding further into the darkness before it disappeared for good. 

"Shite..." he breathed hoarsely, and fell on his ass promptly.