They breasted the cliff, having found what might have been a path hundreds of years ago, and faced the Howling Pass. As soon as they were above the shield of the cliff the wind attacked them, and had he not been anticipating the assault, Redmun might have fallen from the harsh shove of it.

In their immediate vicinity, it was nothing more than an expanse of dense grass and shrubbery. Miles away, however, were the homes of Evils, - enormous, hollow, dead trees hundreds of feet tall dotted about the horizon. Long enough so that even a horse would take a week to traverse it at its longest, the Howling pass only had a couple dozen such trees, so large were their root systems. And, as if just to make travel more difficult, spread all about the place were sudden rises and falls in the earth like the one behind them. There would be climbing aplenty ahead.

Redmun glanced down at his ruined fingers, flexing the ones he could bare to. He really ought to just get the healing over with. There was no use in delaying. At least, that was what the practical side of him said. The problem was, practicality wasn't always the most important thing when some ancient monstrosity was trying to burn you alive from the inside out. Healing any wound you wanted was useful, as well as also damned dangerous, and creepy besides.

Without a word, they set off, kicking through the dense grass, heading north-east. There was only one civilized place in all of the Howling Pass, Lutmouth. And it was days away.

They could rest for a single night underneath one of the trees – most of them, anyway – but with the featureless landscape ahead it was hard to tell if they'd reach the closest one in time for nightfall. It was also in the wrong direction.

“At least the mud is drying,” Jessa said as she brushed a hand through her long clumps of dirty hair.

“Hmm,” Redmun said, then yawned. “I don't suppose we're lucky enough to have a stream between us and that tree, do you?”

“Best not worry what luck's got to do with things,” she said, shading her eyes with a hand to peer out over the landscape. “You know, I knew a man once, saw luck in everything. 'Luck's a fickle mistress, young, dear Jessa,'” she said, in a faux-deep voice somewhere between Al'Hagiran and inaudible. “'One day she'll kiss your nose, smiling down on you with all your warmth, and the other, she'll fart on you and not deign to notice.'”

“An interesting man with interesting thoughts,” Redmun said, nodding appreciatively. “If only that were how most people thought on this side of the ocean.” Jessa snickered at that, but without much mirth. After coming across the sea to the Forsaken Continent, the religious of them tried to understand why they'd come to a place full of never-before seen monstrosities. Somehow, the prevailing thought became that they'd been sent there to suffer. Most people took the Church seriously, even if they didn't subscribe to those specific beliefs, but among Possessors the Church was a joke. A sick, twisted joke., and everyone was the but.

In the distance, a swarm of what looked like birds was scouting away from a tree – the one they were headed to. That boded well, but Redmun locked the flock in his mind, and kept track of it.

They fell into the companionable silence that filled most of their travels, going for almost an hour undisturbed. Redmun was just squinting at the noon-day sun when the calls came. A penetrating shriek that seemed to echo inside the mouth of the thing, punctuated their travel. There were half a dozen species living in the Plains, and that could be any. Not that it made much difference – one mouth ripping you to shreds is the same as the other, in most cases. There were some, though, that were particularly nasty. If Jessa's friend's lady luck had anything to say about it, they'd probably encounter them all in succession.

The circled above them, high above, before one pitched down in a spiral. It landed with a thud a distance away.

The creatures had been dubbed 'Mirds' – as in 'Mouth-Birds' – by the terrified settlers of the Forsaken Continent, and never renamed. The size of a small hound, the things had the eight spider-like legs connected to a black-feathered body, with wings to match. There was no visible head, only a gaping, spiral-like maw with countless teeth which produced their echoing, grating cry which, that raked at Redmun's ears.

It crouched aggressively, screeching its horrible cry. Jessa harrumphed, and stepped forward. The ghost-hand appeared around it, lifted it up, crushed it, and slammed the corpse in around. “Fucking mongrel,” she muttered. Screeches from above; more were coming.

Here, Redmun, the Evil said pleasantly, the burning, horribly seductive power beginning a slow rise in his chest.

Redmun pushed it down as much as he could, and readied his knife. He wouldn't take it, not after the encounter in Potsdoor. He didn't trust the Evil, didn't trust himself with it. And besides, he'd been trained to fight without it. I don't need your help.

When the first one dove for him, he leapt to the side and sliced at the same time, gashing through the thing's wing. It stuck the ground behind him, whipping up dirt. The next attached itself to his shoulder, it's razor-sharp teeth sinking deep. His knife found its side before it could start gnawing, but he had to struggle to get it off.

Beside him, Jessa struck out with dagger and claw, dashing and rolling away from them as they tried to swarm and overwhelm. One of them struck her bodily in the back, knocking her off her feet.

Just that glance let another catch Redmun by surprise, however. Its long talons cut a long wound across his upper arm as he tried, desperately, to strike first. Redmun at least caught the next on in its dive, slamming the knife into its body, but there were so many more.

He dashed towards Jessa, dodging dive after dive, not even trying to strike, just keeping moving. Just as he reached her, one slammed into her, knocking her to her knees. Her head whipped up, her face furious. Redmun recognized that look, and the intake of breath that followed. He dove for the ground, covering his ears.

Jessa screamed. The sound ripped out of her throat, only it wasn't just her voice. The Banshee's Wail struck like a wall, getting past Redmun's covering hands and rattling his brain agonizingly. It felt like the undead bitch that inhabited Jessa's arm was right in his ear, wailing out all her agony.

Such power she has, the Evil whispered, its voice reaching through the cry. And not afraid to use it. Do you intend to let he do all the work, even if it gets her killed? Just to spite me?

Yes! Redmun sent back, throwing all his spite into the sending.

Around him, Redmun felt the thuds of Mird bodies. Finally, the cries stopped. Redmun tried to stand, wobbled a bit, and fell. He took a few seconds, willing the spinning in his head to stop, before finally falling in the direction of a Mird. The thing was still kicking, but his knife put a stop to that.

As Jessa yanked her knife out of the hide of the last, she looked to Redmun, a hint of disapproval escaping her bland-faced mask. “You alright?” Redmun managed to nod. He was standing up, and that was good enough. “Enough walking for one day, I think.” Redmun nodded again, and struggled into a sprint. Night was coming.