It had been some time since last Eleanor felt pretty. But clad in her fresh, grease-scented, brown dress and the white apron, she felt better than she had in some time. At least she was dry- for now. Asrael, however, looked ridiculous in his beige pants and his white shirt. If she had not known better, she might have imagined him any other man- at least until he put the oversized, leather hat on and muttered a few curses. It had cost them far too much- a hundred gold pieces, but they were beginning to get pressed for time.

He pushed the girl ahead of him into the cold mist, out along the left wall, where, as promised by the terrorized bar-maid, they found the stables. “Barrel! I need Yurgen!” Asrael shouted into the gray, rotten stable.

Eleanor was unused to the stench of a dozen animals stuffed together- as were Yurgen and the horses. The small, fat man, however, could scarcely feel the reek over his own bodily odors. He had just closed the gate on the horses’ booth and was dreading explaining to Yurgen yet again, that he was not, in fact, a human. Thankfully, Asrael would save him the effort.

The necromancer stepped up to the camel and met his lengthy eyelashes as the camel pursed his lips and burped. Barrel could not wait to get his damp clothes off, but hustling about the warm stable had, if nothing else, rid him of his shivers. Still, Asrael noted how the impressive belly staring up at him from Barrel’s open shirt seemed a tad more pale than usual.

Barrel rubbed the snot from his small, buttoned nose and burped at the camel. Yurgen chewed twice, before burping in turn. Barrel nodded his understanding and gleefully explained: “He says he’s reddy. Wheres yous goin?”

Asrael reached his hand out to ruffle the tuft of lengthy hair atop the camel’s head to explain: “We are going to see a hack... but with any luck, he will be able to save Eleanor’s hand. It should not be far. If we make haste, we should be able to make it there by nightfall- if Titus’ mind is to be trusted.” The camel turned to look at the approaching, whimpering Ellie and burped at her.

“He says you dun look too good, Ellie. You sure is a good idea to go out like dat, boss?” Asrael looked over at the girl in her barmaid’s dress and shook his head.

“No. But we have no other choice. By the end of the week, that hand will either have to be in a better state or we will have to have it removed.” Barrel’s already sunk-in eyes nearly disappeared as he narrowed the apertures and nodded.

“Lemme show you how he likes it.”

Thankfully, Yurgen was swift as he followed after the two pale forms of the banshees down the misty road. Ahead of the banshees, another sister and the Ogre led the way- securing them intel on the road some-twenty meters ahead. The brimming humps on the camel’s back offered a nice stability, but Asrael still found it necessary to hold the girl ahead of him tight with his left hand and the leather binding with his right.

Yurgen’s rhythmic, loud breaths sounded with his every quick step and only occasionally did the wet, cold girl whimper with pain. Neither Asrael nor Eleanor spoke as they journeyed on through the damp, choking mists- both of them had more than enough occupying their minds to think much further ahead.

Asrael was watching the pale, naked women ahead- how they scanned the bright, white mists and relayed information through the unseen bond, but something had definitively changed since he first tapped into the space between him and his soldiers. There had always been too many voices for him to understand the chatter, that part was hardly new, but-… something was off in between the muttering. He had noticed it growing more pronounced over time, but only recently had he become aware of the coordinating voice in their midst- a budding, expanding intelligence that seemed to relay information in between his undead soldiers.

He tightened his grip on Yurgen’s reins and closed his eyes to focus on the entity. It had spoken to him- once... back when he and his two, foolish, female companions had escaped the tunnels beneath Pilta. It had never spoken to him in words, nor had it attempted to converse with him in imagery, smells or sounds, no- nothing so simple. Instead, it had coordinated his efforts and made a split-second decision that had eased their journey- a prospect as fascinating as it was disturbing.

It might’ve been miniscule to most- some would say an invisible gesture. But the soldier dropping Asrael from its arms to evacuate Ellie, instead, had spoken of an intelligence aside from his own, controlling the undead.

“Asrael...” Ellie whimpered from his embrace. He looked down at the jumping head of black hair- melancholic that the silence had, dreadfully, ended.

“What?” He questioned.

After a moment’s further deliberation, Eleanor finally questioned: “Once-… once my arm is removed, there’s no more hope I’ll recover, is there?” He narrowed his eyes and looked to the still mists with confusion. The girl was smart and this question was, without a doubt, the dumbest he had ever heard.

“Your arm will not recover when it is rotting on the floor.” He saw her head bob up and down.

“I-… I want to be turned into one of your soldiers when you kill me. At least I can be useful, then.” Had he had the arm to spare, he would’ve brought a palm to his face.

“No.” He answered in short. This declining of her request seemed to break her stalwart defenses to the point she began to loudly weep and tremor against his chest.

“I’m-… I’m so sorry... this is my fault- it's all because I disobeyed you. B-but p-please... I want to keep travelling with you. Don’t bury me out here-” Gripping her chest, he scolded:

“I am not going to kill you, you imbecile- nor am I going to turn you! What has gotten into you- you are usually much more... coherent!” The timid girl huddled up against him in shamed silence, but before the courage could leave her, she had to speak her piece.

“I-I’ve let you d-down... Y-you said you d-didn't like this Thomas-guy, but you’re still taking me to him... if he really was your rival, you must feel so pathetic- all because of me. I mean... it’s embarrassing, even to me.” Asrael’s nose and lips twitched as she continued:

“If I were you, I’d probably die from shame over having to beg my enemy for help-” She yelped as the arm around her chest tightened once more. He hunched down over her and pressed her against the camel’s hump, as they continued to traverse the misty road.

“I am not begging for his help, girl! I am-… I am simply seeing my limitations. Besides-… Thomas undoubtedly failed where I succeeded and I would very much like to shove that factum in his face.” Asrael grinned. Eleanor hesitated, but eventually looked up to question:

“B-but... Asrael... isn’t he loyal with the Inquisition? What if he decides to try and kill us?” Strangely, Asrael seemed confident as he met her dark eyes and spoke: “Oh, I am certain he will try. Which is why it is imperative we do not blow our cover- at least until he heals your hand and then... Then I will show him the glory of my creations and my intellectual superiority.” Ellie felt a passing discomfort as she saw the maliciousness in his grin.

“R-right... but don’t you think he’ll remember you?“ He appreciated that she left some of her considerations unspoken. He was, after all, fully aware that anyone who had ever seen his ugly mug would be fortunate to forget it. “The man is seventy years old at this point, girl. If the senility has not eaten my face from his mind, then I would be surprised... besides. For the last thirty years, I’ve been declared ‘dead’. Even if he were to suspect that I was, in fact, me, he will never imagine that I am still alive.”

Alive being the relative term, Eleanor left the words to hang in the damp, cold air and took comfort in Asrael’s embrace as Yurgen led them onwards- down the misty roads.