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They were charging after her.
Wy
Something grabbed her cowl from behind, and this time she cried out.
Wy
His skin was gray and darkly splotched. Eyes without pupils stared blankly ahead, as the seaman raised his saber and brought it down at her head.
She held up the crossbow stock with both hands, and the saber cracked against it.
A deep voice call out from nearby. "Wy
"Leesil?" she called back. "I'm here! Please help- quickly!"
She struggled with the dead seaman, trying to hold him off.
A fist shot past her head from behind, striking the dead man's face, and he fell. But the corpse's grip held on Wy
The cowl ripped from her robe, and she rolled to hurry away on hands and knees. As she looked back, wiping dirt and muck from her face, she saw the dark silhouette rising up over the downed seaman.
In his hand he held a longsword.
Wy
Chane turned toward her.
The moment Chane heard Wy
A loud crack sounded ahead where her voice had come from.
"Leesil?" she cried out. "I'm here! Please help- quickly!"
She had mistaken his voice. Welstiel had warned him not to reveal himself, but Chane didn't care anymore.
He opened his senses, smelling the air and feeling for life among the trees as he ran. Wy
He ripped through the forest's tangle and saw her.
Wy
Chane rushed in, striking with his fist over the top of Wy
A rotting stench filled his heightened sense of smell, and he gagged as he fell on the man. Chane quickly rolled to his feet, and turned to look for Wy
She scurried away on all fours, her cowl ripped away. Wiping dirt off her face, she stared at him blankly.
"Chane?" she whispered, and then her eyes widened as she looked down at his feet. "Chane!
The prone corpse swung its saber at his legs.
He caught the blade with his longsword and stomped on the corpse's wrist. Bone snapped under his foot, and the saber came loose. He rammed his own sword though the corpse's chest and felt the blade sink through into the earth. The thing beneath him thrashed awkwardly, even with the sword through its body, attempting to grab his leg with its free hand.
A troublesome creature. Chane wondered what it would take to put an end to this. He snatched up its saber, raising it to hack the corpse's head from its shoulders.
He heard the hiss of a blade from behind, followed by a cry of pain from Wy
Pain pierced Chane's back. He looked down to see the point of a curved blade protruding from his rib cage. His own black fluids spread through his torn shirt and vestment. He suppressed the pain and slammed his elbow high to the rear.
He felt it crack into something mat whipped back from the blow. But the attacker behind him held on to the saber's hilt. Chane lunged forward sharply, sliding his body off the blade. Fluid loss would eventually weaken him, and he couldn't leave Wy
Wy
Blood ran out her collar down her severed sleeve.
The undead must have slashed her with its saber before ru
"Don't move!" he shouted at her.
He swung at this second corpse's neck with the saber. The dead man blocked with his own blade. Chane had no idea what it would take to put these things down. Welstiel had called them "reanimated," and Chane hoped they were as mindless as that might imply. While this creature's expression showed no self-awareness, it had enough survival instincts and lingering memory to wield its weapon.
Chane feinted, and as the creature followed, he kicked out into its knee. Its balance faltered, and he swung for its neck. It blocked again but not quickly enough. The blade bit through fetid flesh and stopped on bone. When it showed no sign of slowing, Chane dropped his weapon and lunged at it with both hands.
Before it could draw the saber back, he threw his arms around its neck, toppling it over. As they hit the ground, Chane pulled his knees up and pi
Its head tore free in his hands.
He tossed it aside, grabbed a saber from the ground, and ran to the other corpse-now clutching at the longsword still pi
Chane tossed the saber aside and stumbled toward Wy
"What are you… What are you doing?" she whispered.
Wy
"Be still and quiet," Chane said. "I need to see how bad the wound is."
He pulled back the left side of her robe to expose an ugly tear in the soft flesh between her shoulder and collarbone. Though the saber's tip had slashed open her sleeve, it had not cut into her arm, as well. He slipped off his vestment and cloak and tore away both his sleeves. Lying on the ground, the cloak seemed to move of its own accord. His rat crawled from the pocket and skittered off into the trees. He did not try to stop it. Folding the sleeves together for a makeshift bandage, he pressed it against the wound.
Wy
"This needs to be sewn," he said. "Where's your pack?"
She didn't answer but reached out with her right hand as if checking to make sure he was real.
"I told you to go."
Wy
"Everything will be all right," he whispered. "I'm here."