Trapped in the mist

Lasair

Lasair found herself in the dark.

And not in the way one did when looking behind one's eyelids, waiting for sleep to come, or knowing what an empty sleep looked like, devoid of dreams. This was her, standing in an inky dark. She frowned, seeing nothingness stretch on for an eternity, and folded her winged arms without the pain of her broken wrist.

The dream slowly filtered in as she walked in any aimless direction. Sounds came first; distant laughing, filtered like from an old recording from a phonograph. Running feet, playing noises. The sound of grass under her clawed feet, without the sensation of it.

Images came next, like hazy ghosts caught out of the corner of her eye. Children playing, family chatting around a table, all complete strangers to her sporting red hair. Their details were blurred like an underpainting smudged by the artist's thumb, but she could see herself clear enough, sitting in the middle of it all.

Lasair stared at herself as a complete stranger. Pretty, uncorrupted, laughing amongst people Lasair didn't know. She hardly knew she was capable of looking so rosy and happy, with soft fingers unfit for cutting and clawing, simply linked with the hand of a beloved. Lasair couldn't see the dark-haired man's face clearly, but the happiness radiating from that phantom lover sat so ill on her.

Lasair felt like a voyeur, like she had no right to see this. But turning away from it only brought up a similarly idyllic scene, of herself commanding a room with such alluring, svelte authority that it twisted some foreign envy in her stomach that had no right to be there. Look at her! sighed the crowd. The crown jewel of Faline, our darling of the city! How she could do no wrong. The admiration, the adoration, all of it well-earned and glorious! What was there not to crave?

"This isn't me," Lasair whispered, turning away again.

She hurried past visions of herself with family, children, siblings, cousins, all who treasured that false vision with such unabashed love that she could've laughed in every one of their faces and not dimmed a single blurred smile. "None of this is mine!" Lasair shouted, running past visions of glory and treasure and long-established works that would outlast her, matching what her ancestors had spilled blood to leave behind. "I don't want any of this!"

What made her stop in her tracks wasn't the glory, or promises of love and family that had nothing to do with her.

It was the visions of adventure. Lasair stared at a distant version of herself leaping from rooftops and freely changing shape from one monster to another with such self-confidence and ease that she felt sick just to see it. She watched this perfect temptation dodge and weave enemies with a brilliant, elegant laugh, stealing swords to parry with and pressing her back against a solid friend to face the odds with, and Lasair sucked in a breath between her wretched teeth. This one rang so unbelievably false that she couldn't even dredge up a laugh.

These were the dreams of the person she used to be. And whose fault was it that all of this would forever be out of her reach? How many greedy aspirations did she use to have? How selfish had she been, to take all of this and twist it into enough wanton bloodshed that left Lasair hunted down at first glance? Had all of this not been enough?

"I could have had this," Lasair seethed at this tormenting mirror that paused long enough to aim that glittering smile at her. "Had you not ruined it."

Lasair stalked forward, past imaginary enemies, past that faceless friend she'd never trusted enough to make, and grabbed the arm of that possible past self, that almost-reality. "Take a good long long at what you made me, Lasair," She said to herself. "Because I'm paying the price you left behind, and whatever you wanted - this? All of these almost-dreams you could've had?" Lasair leaned in, baring her teeth, making that false self falter and flinch back. "I don't want it."

* * *

Lasair woke up in a jolt, her own words acting like the cold shock of water needed to break free of that awful dream. Immediately the pain of her broken wrist and the wagon crash came roaring to life, and she cried out and curled up on herself, her wings awkward in the cramped, dark space. Her head swam, and there had to be blood on her brow and in her mouth from crashing into the shield walls that....weren't there anymore.

Freed of those walls, there was something sprawled atop her legs, and she pulled her corrupted feet free of it with a grunt. The doors of the wagon had broken apart behind her, allowing in enough outside light to see that the lump was Vilas, knocked as strongly unconscious as she'd been.

Her brows knitted together, and she moved over gingerly. "Vilas," She called, using her good arm to shake his shoulder. They needed to get help, needed to get out of here, and she sure as hell wasn't dragging him out of the wreckage. "Hey - Vilas, wake up!"

He failed to stir, but she saw the way his eyes moved under his eyelids, caught fast in some hold. The mist crept in from the broken wagon doors and into their prison, and she kept shaking him, to no avail to what truly kept him imprisoned.

(919)

Vilas

The world around him might as well not have existed, so absolute was the dream's hold on him as he laid there, smiling faintly in his sleep with blood trickling down his brow.

Behind his eyelids, Vilas was far away from Ivras. Had never set foot in said kingdom, in fact, but the old house he found himself at felt no less strange; foreign, familiar only in a way a childhood memory can be when all the details have been washed away by time and mind races to fill those empty blotches with something.

Childhood. Right, of course he knew this place. A three-story house built in the old part of the city, right next to the merchant district - his home.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder, startling him out of his wonderment and the faint sense of disorientation looking up at the curtained, tall windows gave him. He turned to meet an apologetic courier's smile. A message for your father, sir Arlett, the man said. Vilas nodded, offering to take the letter to the man himself. It would be all the same, he replied and bid good day to the courier.

Vilas Arlett. The realization sank in slowly as he entered that old house, walking through a portrait covered hallway before heading for the stairway. He wasn't allowed to the second floor, a distant thought murmured to him through the haze, but his attention was captivated by the paintings that lined the walls, taking in their details as he passed by them. The largest of them featured a family portrait, a rather old-fashioned one; there in the middle sat his father, Gervais; next to him, his two elder brothers, Florian and Yves; and lastly to his father's left was his mom, Astrina, ever sweet in her dark green dress with her light blond hair gathered up delicately.

Someone was missing. His father wasn't born into nobility, a merchant man who acquired his title via a marriage to a noble woman, the youngest of her House. His mom... she...

The thought fled his mind as he found himself behind a heavy door, made of cherry tree and two etched glass panels. His hand turned the handle before he could hesitate, entering his father's study. The man looked up to him from his paperwork, smiling from underneath his mustache, happy to see his youngest after three weeks away from home. Had he just arrived, was the ride home trouble-free? The casual questions just kept coming, eventually turning into relaxed musings about his studies. One more year, and he could be send to university to follow his brothers' example, my, how time flies -

Vilas smiled bashfully, catching a glimpse of himself from the little round mirror behind his father's chair. His hair was longer, but he looked... younger, seventeen maybe? All prim and proper, like all the other noble lads back home.

When had he looked like this?

He replied nothing, finding himself unable to speak through that obedient smile even when his father stopped to look him in the eye. Life had not always been easy for them, but he was proud of him, Gervais said. Vilas knew that, right?

The only thing was, there were no eyes to look back into, the details of his father's face merging and melting away like heated wax, the sight of it startling enough to make his breath hitch in the waking world.

What did they look like? His father, his two brothers, they-

No, step-brothers. Their mother, who was she again? Astrina had been nothing but a maid turned mistress, the thorn in Lady Ysabel's side; she had bent to Gervais' will to not cast out the bastard and his wench mother, but in return, Vilas would never, never have a claim on her family's name that Gervais himself had coveted not so long ago.

The house started to lose its form, its imaginary details crumbling, peeling away all around him.

It wasn't his father that had been proud of him. Vilas found himself tucked away in the servants' quarters, clinging to his mother as yet another day had passed by without his father walking down the stairs to come and see him. He wanted to see him, didn't his father realize that? Always taunted about the second floor, his brothers' bedrooms the only relatively familiar part of said floor. Or had been, until Florian had dragged him to the library once, only for Ysabel to find him there and sharply call for Gervais to deal with the audacious boy.

He had felt that slap on the cheek for a week after.

He clung to that hand on his shoulder, his breathing quickening. He shouldn't be in this house, his mother's embrace losing its warmth. Gone was the teen, the child, and that unwanted son with his own body disappearing in a blink, causing Astrina to shriek in fright.

She had given him up - they all had.

* * *

He startled awake, panting and staring emptily ahead as that awful dream faded, his fingers loosening their grip around Lasair's wrist when he slowly came to. The carriage had veered off the road. The impact, Lasair's cry - he remembered that much. Vilas lifted his confused stare up to Lasair, more surprised to see her there at all than that the shields had somehow failed during his lapse of consciousness. Why hadn't she ran away?

"What happened?" He said hoarsely, wincing as he slowly sat up, gripping his bleeding temple as the nauseous feeling in his guts quietly settled.

(911)

Lasair

Relief brought out a sigh from her as he sat up, and her good hand hovered over him, just in case. "Easy, easy, we both hit our heads in the crash. The drivers must have lost control, but considering they haven't come around looking for us..." She pursed her lips and dropped her hand once he was fully up.

"You need to use that magic of yours - you said you could heal, couldn't you? - so we can see what happened, look for help. I think the weather must've taken a turn for the worst," She nodded to the mist creeping into the broken wagon door. "But other than that, I think we're -"

Lasair paused, then leaned in closer in worry. "-were you crying?"

(123)

Vilas

Vilas didn't move a muscle, frozen like a rabbit caught in a torch's glow.

Then he felt it, that wetness on his cheeks and he looked away with an ashamed exhale. "I don't know," He breathed. It wasn't a snarky reply, or even a cold one, his lingering confusion apparent as he briefly wiped at his eyes before daring to face her again, lowering his gaze to that broken wrist as Lasair's words fully sunk in. This didn't make any more sense than that dream had, her kindness as unwarranted as it was oddly reassuring right in the wake of those sights that had left his heart hammering.

What of it, if she'd take the first chance to drop the act and stab him to death? Better than whatever he'd just seen while unconscious.

He noted the mist creeping in, sparing a wary glance towards the broken doors before finally murmuring, "Hold out your arm." He unwrapped the sash tied around his middle, beckoning Lasair to support her broken wrist lightly while he tied the cloth into a makeshift sling, offering her a careful, tense look before slipping it over her head. "This should give it some support while walking. Mead can't be that far yet," He said simply, taking off his leather gloves next to place one hand over her swollen wrist, only uttering 'Sorry, can't do it any other way', as he let his fingertips lightly touch her purpling skin.

While soft light bled from his fingers to her skin, her bruised muscles and bones, he said, "We better check on the driver and... I didn't catch her name. That guard."

The light remained faint, but clear enough to see the outlines of his finger bones while he waited for the numbing sensation to take effect.

(299)

Lasair

Lasair did wince at the sling and the touch on her swollen wrist, but the gradual numbing sensation was more than worth it, and she closed her eyes in further relief. To finally have that burning ache lift was a godsend, and she murmured a soft thank you when that touch moved from her wrist to her brow, where the rising pressure there was lifted, and she was glad of it before it'd become anything worse.

She remarked on the mutual head injuries as the numbing spread across her temples, and she murmured off-handedly, "I wonder if a head strike makes one prone to awful dreams. Mine was....far too introspective for my liking, horribly so." She opened her eyes in a show of drawling sarcasm. "If I lose my memories of the awful person I used to be, I'd like it to stay that way, thank you very much, jarring head strikes be damned."

But she left it at that, not touching upon how active his dreaming must've been, or his tears upon waking. She merely took his glowing hand from her brow once the pain had subsided and brought it to his for him to focus on next, and brooked no argument over it. "I wouldn't know the way to Mead, especially not in this fog, so I shall assume you'll lead the way, and not get us horribly lost." She cut a glance up to him. "Today has been exciting enough, I should think."

(247)

Vilas

Her glance was met with a quiet look, his brow furrowing as he lowered his now blood-stained hand from his brow. The faint ache was still there, as was the odd sense of sympathy her musings had evoked in him, but the cut on his forehead had sealed itself, leaving him free to reach out and inspect the chain connecting her shackled wrists if only to make sure it was still intact.

It was, and he murmured with a somewhat uneasy note as he let go of it, "You wouldn't say." In this dimness, her golden eyes appeared to almost glow, catching light in those slit pupils of hers like beasts' do. He huffed almost abruptly, "I broke your wrist and helped arrest you."

Vilas grimaced before continuing, doubtful of this overbearing concern she was showing him. "Needn't be so nice to some guy crying for his mother in his sleep, or whatever. I won't leave you to fend for yourself, if that's what worries you." He could keep her safe until they'd secure another ride to Namarast, but letting her go was out of the question as much now as it had been before the crash. Sure, he could buy her memories having been tampered, but was there really a reason for her much gentled demeanor?

As they began to move towards the doors, carefully so as not to stumble, he hummed with a tense smile as they got up to their feet, "Let's just hope there's no robbers waiting outside with their weapons drawn."

(256)

Lasair

She scoffed at that last line, managing the shackles by supporting her arm in the sling by the elbow. "Grace forbid."

"And to correct you, I'm not being kind." She said as she gingerly rose to her feet with her hands tucked away. "I attacked you long ago, you wanted to make it even and arrested a criminal, I said my piece now, you listened, I stayed, you healed my wrist." She looked at him evenly. "You reap what you sow, I'm coming to find, and I'd rather work with you than against you in an emergency like this."

She joined him at the door. "...and I'm sorry about your mother." Lasair said simply,  thinking on her own dream and its awful implications, and left it at that.

Then she leaned her good shoulder against the broken door and freed them both from that dark bit of claustrophobia and into the mist. They helped each other step over the wreckage and looked around for any indication of where they'd crashed. There was the mildest hint of a high incline that the wagon fell down, but all else was shrouded in thick mist.

All but the hints of movement that Lasair's sharp animalistic eyes caught. "What is that," She murmured, pointing with her chin.

(213)

Vilas

He felt it before he could see the thing that had caught her attention. Usually it was only in that state of un-being that such sensations were strong enough for him to notice, but this time, his skin was crawling long before a giant eyeball floated past them, its pupil contracting like a disgusting black hole that saw right through the odd pair.

"What the fuck," Vilas hissed, watching the thing continue on its way seemingly without a will of its own, simply floating wherever the wisps of mist guided it to. Had there been any wind, perhaps the sight of it wouldn't have been as unsettling as it was, but sensing no immediate danger from the eye, Vilas cleared his throat as quietly as he could and grunted with a hand hovering behind Lasair's folded wings, "Come on, let's check the front."

There were more of them. Some as large as a boulder, others barely bigger than a man's fist. He didn't look at them directly, only ushered Lasair to stay close while the eyes watched the two circle around the wreckage in heavy silence. 

One of the horses was dead, the other likely lost in the fog. The driver was easier to find of their two 'travel companions', slumped over his seat with the reins still in his hands. He had hit his head, it seemed like, but the man breathed, sleeping so soundly that even Vilas picking the old man up and laying him on his side on the grass didn't stir him. It was the guard the two had to search for, scanning the nearby thicket with a diminishing diligence, until Lasair gestured him to hurry over. 

The guard was alive, thank Grace, but her leg needed binding, the cut too dangerous to leave as is. It was broken, they both could tell that much at a glance, but just like with the driver, no matter how gently they turned her, or winced at the way something moved right under her skin when they tightened the splint around her calf, the nameless woman wouldn't wake. 

Whatever was behind the mist, their crash, had the two in their grip as well. 

Vilas could give it a guess, though, and the thought of it made him nearly wish he'd kept his mouth shut about the dream. He'd be damned if Lasair would be the last person to hear of his childish woes, but with a monster afoot, the mage could worry about that and everything else later. 

"Of fucking course some abomination would appear today," He murmured, his words less biting, less dismissive than he would've liked them to be. Last time he'd met a monster, it was only because of Mordreaux they had managed to outrun the thing and get to safety. Now, they were alone on some dirt road that would merge with the king's road sooner or later, far from anyone and the sky so thick with mist that it could've been evening already, the sun's light cold and distant.

(505)

Lasair

The eyes were absolutely upsetting. Meeting their gazes was a mistake, but when they floated close regardless of boundaries, it was hard to avoid them. Other than the intense feeling of paranoia on her back of being watched, the eyes seemed oddly harmless, like they just wanted to drink up whatever they were up to.

Lasair helped the search for those two Order fellows as her arms allowed her to, but once they were situated safely on the grass and Lasair was left staring at Vilas, her jailer, she absolutely had to start up some conversation, or perish for the atmosphere alone.

"Abomination, you say," She said with an uneasy smirk. "Someone picked an interesting timing to corrupt, wouldn't you agree? Almost as if the universe is saying not to arrest m-"

His cutting glare was answer enough, and she sighed loudly. "Fie on me for trying to lighten the air! We could always discuss this strange dreaming ailment instead, if that suits you better. Anything to distract from these...pleasant fellows we find ourselves with."

Her nose scrunched up in distaste as one floated right under her chin, as if she wasn't there at all. "Absolutely charming."

(198)

Vilas

"You'd consider those dreams better?" He scoffed through his tight smile, doing his best to keep his eyes on Lasair and the path in front of them, rather than the... beings floating around them.  "Nightmares more like. Yours didn't sound all that pleasant either."

It was difficult to see the road ahead of them, the mist forcing them to follow the road's edge slowly all the while keeping an eye out for any change in the 'fellows'. Something much worse could be lurking just beyond their sight, and they might not even hear it coming. Not if it was anywhere near as these silent watchers.

... Maybe it wasn't that bad of an idea. Chatting, although quietly, but he'd be damned to utter another word about his. With a puzzled look in his eyes, he half-whispered, hesitant to break the silence that surrounded them - even the surrounding fields and forests were deadly silent.

"Say, if you reckon the old you was that much more awful, what is it that you want, then?"

His dream had been about that. Wanting. Yearning - would hers have been the same?

(185)

Lasair

Lasair walked beside him, and cut him an actually harrowed look at his question. How did he know it'd been about wanting? How had he known anything about it, barring the foul taste of old memories she'd mentioned?

Slightly on edge, she pulled her gaze from him towards the nigh-nonexistant road they traveled on, and she did not keep as quiet as he did, finding little point in it. There were too many voyeurs around to keep any of this to themselves. "The wanting I saw wasn't terrible in and of itself. It might've been old, buried dreams I used to have, and forgot in pursuit of something unattainable." Her eyelids lowered somewhat in rare melancholy. "Family. Love. Freedom. Power. Who doesn't crave those things? But none of that has anything to do with me now."

She sighed. "I just want to stop paying for someone else's mistakes, stop being hunted down, and breathe." She glanced at another floating eye that bobbed past them harmlessly. "....I've heard that mages close to this tend to lose themselves. And I think...from what I used to dream of, compared to the person you met, I think I came close to this. A monstrous death of the self. And if my lack of memories and magic appears to be a second chance, I'd rather...."

She frowned, her throat tightening. "Gods, I have a house. An uncle. A friend I'm sweet on, despite everything I've done. Why would I want to ruin that like I did in the past?" She bitterly rattled the chain hanging from her wrists. "This isn't worth it."

(268)

Vilas

He listened without interruption, keeping his eyes more on the road than the redhead walking next to him, or their curious company. She sounded honest, revealing much more of herself than Vilas had expected and this time... The mage found himself believing her lamentation. The crestfallen note a new one, but it was that bitter hopelessness in her voice that prompted him to stop and turn to look at her properly.

The wounded driver and guard pushed in the back of his mind until they could find help, he merely uttered a low 'hey', bringing her attention back to him and his mirthless look the drying blood on his face did little to lighten. "Letting you go now would only have someone else hunt you down. Sooner or later, but..." Vilas said bluntly, pausing only to shrug and sigh as they began to walk again, "Who knows. Maybe those Order-ties of that uncle of yours will become of use once we get there."

"Don't see much point in punishing someone who can't even truly repent for their supposed crimes. There are better ways to waste time."

They circled around a larger eyeball blocking part of the road, but stuck to the edge otherwise. He continued to talk in turn, filling the silence with something even if it may not have been much of help for either of them. "Is this the same uncle who found you in a cave and gave you a house?" He sneered faintly, but quickly dropped that half-grimace for how it made his bruised cheek throb. "Damned if I care about someone hiding a wanted criminal. Wasn't there to see it happen, were I?"

(278)

Lasair

"No, you weren't." She glanced at him again with emotionally flushed cheeks and a tight throat, realizing a little too late that answering him truthfully could get her uncle in trouble. Bad enough that a witchfinder knew her connection with Harrow, but at least Vilas had his own relationship with them to worry about.

When they'd circled around the road, they'd walked into a grassy embankment, and Lasair stopped in her tracks as she realized they were surrounded. A traveling party had stopped off the road for a moment's rest, and here they all lay, sprawled in trapped slumber with instruments and plates of food fallen from their hands. It would've been peaceful, had they not experienced those dreams themselves.

So Lasair stopped, and looked him dead in the eye. "Do you actually mean that?" She said, emotions still high from her last confession, her voice strained. "About seeing no point in punishment. Because as it stands, I have two options, and I am telling you this rather than acting on it without a word."

"I could run. Fly off. It would be vastly unpleasant for us both and there's no guarantee it would work, but look around us! Who else would catch me other than you? Or I could stay with the only other person awake during a crisis and, what, risk eventual death for the crime of waving a handkerchief at Harrow in public?"

"Unless you mean your words and swear to keep an eye out for me against however many enemies I've made in the Order who might want a worse revenge than a broken wrist, I see better chances in the fog." She grimaced. "I'm telling you this because we're both tired, injured, and you healed my wrist when you didn't need to. But I'm not dying for you."

(303)

Vilas

Vilas could hardly believe his ears, and that mild but genuine surprise showed clearly on his face.

He started tentatively, considering her proposal. "After the Archon, the worst of them is Agathias. The old man who stunned you, my... mentor. Or so I've regarded him, but..."

But what? That he hardly could find it in himself to stick to his role, each and every mask feeling more and more grueling to maintain without a clear goal to strive for. He'd never cared for such a before; a tool is meant to be used, not to ponder why or by whom, but what good had that done to him since forever?

He was tired, far beyond these bruises. Of everyone, of everything.

His gaze fell to the ground momentarily, the silence resting heavy between them until he finally bit out, "You would trust me?"

Nevermind the whole 'you reap what you sow', the thought was outright mind boggling after the afternoon's events, but suppose the same could be said about his own halfhearted musings. Her situation was much different from Enn's, as was his own, not to mention his desire of getting away being much more purposeless than either that man's or Lasair's, but surely there'd be some plan to be hatched. Namarast was a prison of a kind, but it was no fortress, that much had become clear after Sangre Mar's attack and for an Order Mage like him...

Well, simply walking out wasn't exactly impossible. It was the powers that be that wanted to keep him in there that he needed to worry about, but he held his tongue, waiting for her answer. She couldn't hope to keep on avoiding her pursuers forever, and it seemed like they both knew that, but an accord was... almost as unthinkable in its own way.

(303)

Lasair

Her brows furrowed to see him become so quiet and heavy. "'Trust' is a strong word," She replied, sure he was of the sort to understand that as well as she did. He had as little reason to trust her as she did him, especially if they'd begun this entire charade as enemies. For all he knew, she could be lying through her teeth to take advantage of him later on, and he had more reason to be skeptical of her than the other way around. "It's more a measure of judgement." She said carefully. "You don't deserve my ire for the chase, given the circumstances before it, and it's up to you to decide what I deserve, should push come to shove in Namarast."

She shrugged with a rueful smirk. "Who knows. Your mentor could wish for a dagger in my back, forgoing any idea of fair trial. How would I know?" She looked away, towards the sleeping people around them, each caught in a dream-hell of their own making. "If he's the one to put the knife in your hands, I'd just prefer to know if you'd do it or not. That seems reasonable to ask, all things considered."

She could agree that her past self had done horrible things that people would want revenge for. That didn't mean she'd take death lying down without setting some prevention down first. If she could get on his good side, that was better than being completely at the Archon's mercy, if the woman had any to begin with.

(258)

Vilas

He nodded, watching his step as they passed through the slumbering campsite. There wasn't much he nor she could do for these strangers, and it was with grim acceptance in mind they continued to wander. The fog didn't show signs of fading; if anything, it had only grown thicker on their trek towards what he hoped to be Mead, the landmarks near impossible to spot.

There was only the road, the eyes watching their every step with grotesque, wordless interest, and the two of them going through such trouble to find help that for all they knew, could already be dead if a monster was truly behind all of this.

He kept quiet on that thought, saying instead after a lengthy moment of silence with hushed severity, "I'll watch your back. I have no interest in adding to Harrow's disdain for me."

The mage scoffed then, "Unbelievable. You really could be a wholly different person." Or it could be the most intricate act he had seen in his life - the thing was, the Lasair he remembered wasn't exactly that, her tricks all too close to his own. Vilas exhaled tiredly, only half-serious when he added, "Just don't stab me in my sleep, if you decide to go for a knife in the end."

(213)

Lasair

Lasair gave just as weary of a smirking scoff back. "Stab a man crying over family in his sleep? Who do you take me for?" She said, not meaning it for a jab in her tone. Given her own issues with family, she'd be a redeemless person indeed if she stooped that low.

But it was nice to hope for some form of buffer, at least. With her arms more or less useless, and with his magic practically made to hunt people down, any option of escape was an absolute last resort.

She was about to move the topic to something lighter as they continued on, when a brutal roar cut through the mist, making the feathers on Lasair's shoulders bristle as she stepped closer to Vilas. She cursed to hear it - were the floating eyes not enough? Need they more monsters in the fog? - before she looked behind her, in the opposite direction of the roar.

It was silent. How the massive, skeletal thing had snuck on them, Lasair had no time to ask, as she pushed Vilas to "Run!"

(181)