From outside the camp, a shout rang in her ears. Mirhana grasped her sword and sped toward the sound. Again, the shout echoed through the woods.
Gillespie met her at the first line of pine and elm trees. He held a piece of wood lit by the fire.
“Sounds like Landon.” When Mirhana whispered the words, Gillespie tore through the trees as if the abyss nipped at his heels. Please gods, let him not have fallen into another dangerous trap. Troblin, Nerieds, Drow, what next?
His torch scattered light into the forest. Mirhana and Brock chased after him and then skidded to a stop.
There, on the ground lay Landon covered in blood. Mirhana felt as though she couldn’t take a deep enough breath until he spoke.
Melwyn held one of his arms in its mouth. “Get this cursed beast off me. He reeks.”
“Melwyn.” Mirhana stamped her foot. “Release him!”
The red and black striped cat dropped Landon’s arm. Then the cat collapsed.
“Why did he attack Landon?” Brock asked.
Mirhana ignored him as her hands moved over the animal’s body. Then, she removed three spikes that resembled the ones from the Drow creature with a scorpion body and head of a spider.
“He’s wounded. The poisons muted his senses. He should be fine in a few days. His species has immunity to poisons. What would kill others may only make him sleep awhile.”
“And Landon?” Gillespie pointed to the blood. “He’s bleeding.”
“It’s not mine.” Landon rose. “Must be from when he fought whatever creature attacked him.”
From the camp, Celeste called Brock’s name. He turned to leave and Gillespie walked beside him.
“Why did he attack me?” Landon asked Mirhana.
“He was confused.” She cursed as a bat squeaked overhead. “He smelled me on you, so he raged.”
“Since when does kissing leave a scent?”
She felt her body heat at his question. They had done more than kissing.
At camp, Celeste and Jeslyn each had a blade in their hands, Celeste her garnet dagger and Jeslyn one of her curved blades, ready to fight the unknown enemy.
When she saw Brock, Celeste rushed into his arms. Her smile broadened when Mirhana’s voice carried on the night air into camp.
“You don’t know Melwyn’s sense of smell. He could smell any of the undead for a mile. If a deadwalker has fed recently, he’d find it ten miles away and tell you if its victim was male or female. That’s why I use him to hunt the undead with me, because it’s that keen.”