>My breath rises around me in white wisps while my heart continues to race in my chest.
>I sling my rifle over my shoulder and look down at my hands, still trembling. 
>Even my legs are shaking as the adrenaline surges through my body.
>Around me the snowy woods are silent once again, the violence having passed in the space of a few seconds.
>The weight of the heavy .308 is comforting, but I barely even notice it as I trudge forward through the snow, out of a small stand of birch and down, towards an ice-choked stream.
>Next to the stream, less than 100 yards ahead lay two corpses. 
>Crimson stains the snow around them, spreading out like a red carpet slowly being unfurled.
>As if to congratulate me, to welcome me to my prize.
>Two dead goblins, complete with ratty clothes, dirty packs, and what looked like some sort of carbine.
>I walk closer, thinking about how strange it is. Up until a few moments ago, I had never fired a shot in anger.
>I had hunted deer and small game for years, of course, even spent some time in the military, but there is something different about killing a sentient creature that wants to kill you.
>Aside from the giddy feeling of the adrenaline wearing off, I somehow feel the same.
>Maybe there’s not much difference between ambushing them and shooting a deer.
>I arrive at the two dead goblins, one hand on my pistol just in case.
>I nudge a rusty yugo SKS away from the hand of the first goblin with the toe of my boot.
>The second goblin’s weapon, a machete, lays sticking out of the snow where he dropped it as he fell.
>It strikes me immediately how small and malnourished they look. 
>Why were they out here alone, and not part of a larger warband? 
>Isn’t that how they’re supposed to work? 
>So much for strength in numbers.
>I crouch down and rummage through their scant possessions.
>A single gold coin, six silver and a handful of tiny copper coins in a leather pouch.
>Four stripper clips loaded with 7.62x39
>A flask half-full of a brown, foul smelling liquid that I immediately toss.
>The rest is just more tattered clothing, dirty blankets, and an empty can of beans.
>I clear the yugo sks, wishing I could bring it with me, but my pack is already too heavy. 
>The phrase “Ave Nex Alea” carved into the wooden stock jumps out at me. 
>A half smile creeps across my face, but then I’m struck with a pang of sadness.
>As pathetic as they are, these goblins must have killed a fellow /k/ommando.
>I unfold the bayonet of the carbine, and spike it into the snow beside the stream.
>Maybe someone will come across it someday in a moment of need.
>I’m about to walk away when something catches my eye. 
>It looks like there’s a leather cord around the neck of the goblin who had the weapon.
>I reach down and snap it off his neck, lifting up the necklace to inspect it.
>A tiny medallion made of steel, hangs from the cord. I recognize the /k/ube motif instantly.
>It must have belonged to the original owner of the SKS.
>I slip it off of the leather thong and onto the chain around my neck, where the small medallion slides down and settles next to my dog tags, themselves a reminder of a different life on a different world.
>I feel a mix of emotions as I stuff the dog tags and tiny medallion back inside my shirt and stand up. 
>I can’t help but treat it as a sign, reassuring me that I made the right choice a week ago when I stepped through the portal.
>
>Later that night, I sit next to a small campfire and reward myself with a few sips of whiskey from my flask. 
>As a show of respect, I stand and pour out a sip’s worth for the former owner of the tiny steel amulet I now wear
>”/k/ube bless you... whoever you were.” I whisper to the frozen trees around me.
>Overdramatic, I know, but I’ll blame it on the Jameson. 
>I throw another log on the fire, replace the two rounds of .308 I had shot earlier, and click the magazine back into place before I crawl into my sleeping bag for the night.
>I half expect to wake up to a goblin gutting me, but the night passes without any interruptions.
>
>In the morning I awake, revive my little fire, and start some water boiling. 
>Reaching into my pack, I pull out a mountain house and my stomach starts to grumble.
>Biscuits and gravy, why do you have to be so damn good?
>I stand up to stretch, and what I see instantly replaces my hunger with what feels like an icy pit in my stomach.
>Not even 5 yards away, just on the opposite side of the fire, are fresh tracks in the snow. 
>I can see where someone had walked out of the woods into the little clearing and came straight over to my campfire, getting just close enough to stay out of the firelight. 
>Someone, or something. 
>The tracks are roughly the same size and shape as a human foot, except for two small problems.
>One, humans typically don’t run around barefoot in the woods during the dead of winter.
>Two, humans definitely do not have claws protruding from their toes.
>Fuck.
>The snow in the tracks seems to be much harder packed where they came closest to the fire, as if they stood motionless, watching for a long time before wandering off into the forest.
>I will have to take it slow today, and try to nap while the sun is up. 
>I already know I won’t be sleeping tonight.
>Instead of following whatever had been watching me, I decide to travel the way it came from. 
>Hopefully it was just passing through, and this will put some more distance between the two of us. 
>At least the sun has finally decided to emerge as I continue my trek through the snowy forest.
>The woods feel peaceful, and it’s almost easy to forget about the dangers that lurk there.
>Almost.
>I end up cutting across more tracks later in the morning, this time what I believe to be goblins. 
>A lot of goblins. 
>It’s hard to tell, but I estimate a group close to a hundred strong came through within the past couple days.
>Cursing myself for not being a better tracker, I decide to follow. 
>It seems like they are headed in the direction that whatever watched me last night came from.
>As the day goes on, the temperature rises. 
>I can hear melted snow dripping from the trees all around me, and the snow underfoot starts to get soggy and damp. 
>Clouds roll in, and before long a freezing rain starts to fall.
>I take shelter under a massive white pine, and decide to make camp for the night. 
>I can collect some extra wood, get a fire going, and hopefully have a few hours to sleep before the sun goes down and things get interesting.
>Thankfully there’s plenty of dead wood nearby, but getting a fire started proves challenging. 
>The damp wood combined with the freezing rain make it difficult, and I struggle with frozen fingers to strike a spark into my tinder bundle.
>Eventually I give up and fish out my zippo. 
>I can’t help but smirk a bit as the tinder goes up in flames.
>Ancient problems require modern solutions.
>By the time my fire is built up, the temperature is dropping rapidly and the sun has already slipped below the horizon.
>The freezing rain from earlier combined with the cold begins to form a heavy sheet of ice atop the snow.
>I had hoped that I wouldn’t have any fresh tracks to follow in the morning, but this wasn’t what I meant. 
>”Yup, definitely not sleeping tonight.” I mumble to myself as I rest my back against the big pine, my rifle across my lap.
>I settle in for what’s about to be a very long night.
>
>I wake up with a start, the fire just a pile of glowing embers. My heart is beating out of my chest.
>What woke me up? Was it a dream? I don’t remember dreaming about anything.
>A sound?
>Some nameless instinct?
>So much for staying awake.
>I sit perfectly still, looking out into the inky darkness.
>No moon tonight, and no NODs to help my eyes penetrate the gloom.
>As my eyes adjust to the dull glow of my fire, I hear a soft scrape somewhere out in front of me. 
>Trying to move as little as possible, I slide my left hand across my scope and turn on the illumination knob to the lowest setting.
>My right hand grips my rifle tightly, thumb resting above the safety selector.
>Mentally I prepare myself to bring the gun up, flick off the safety, and fire.
>All the while my eyes are scanning the darkness in front of me, trying to discern what it was I heard.
>My eyes settle on something and I try to decide if my mind is playing tricks on me.
>It almost looks like two distant lamps glowing faintly with a pale light, like moonlight on a field of freshly fallen snow.
>Am I seeing some strange light source through a gap in the trees? 
>The longer I look at the spots, the less sure I become. 
>The hair on the back of my neck begins to stand up, and in my mind I try to decide what my next move should be.
>Suddenly I rock forward into a kneeling position, bringing my rifle up and centering my crosshairs on whatever it is I am seeing.
>I may not have been able to afford nightvision, but I silently thank the /k/ube that I have always had a preference for good glass.
>Even on a low power, I am able to better see the spots. Two pale, blue-white orbs glow ever so faintly out in the darkness. 
>I peer at them through my scope, trying to discern what I am seeing. 
>They haven’t moved at all since I noticed them, even when I pulled up my rifle.
>Am I seeing some strange will-o-the-whisp?
>Perhaps the spirits of the two goblins, my first two kills, have come back to haunt me?
>I stare hard through the scope, and then my blood freezes in my veins, my breath catching in my throat as the orbs blink.
>I stare in mute horror as I realize I am staring straight into two round, milky white eyes, completely devoid of pupils and glowing faintly with an ethereal glow.
>Reflexively, my finger squeezes my trigger back, the dull red of my crosshairs directly between the two big eyes.
>Fuck.
>I realize too late that in my excitement I forgot to flick off my safety when I pulled up my LWRC. 
>Fuck fuck fuck!
>Everything moves in slow motion, as my thumb reaches upwards for the safety.
>Whatever is watching me cocks it’s head to the side, and then what feels like an eternity later my thumb reaches the safety. 
>I tug it downwards with a click, and my index finger begins to squeeze the trigger to it’s first stage.
>The click is all it takes though, and the eyes get ever so slightly wider before the creature turns, impossibly fast, and I hear scrabbling over the ice out in the darkness.
>”What. The. Actual. FUCK?!” 
>I let off the trigger and reengage my safety as I stand up fully.
>Maybe coming here was a mistake, just a free ticket to go get killed by mysterious creatures in a faraway land.
>Drawing my pistol, I flick on it’s weapon light, scanning the dark woods. 
>The light reflecting off the snow illuminates everything in stark contrast, but whatever it was is long gone.
>I guess I should have put a light on my rifle, as heavy as it is already. 
>If I ever make it to a town or run into some traders, maybe they will have some goods from the other side available and I will be able to buy one.
>I let out a shaky breath, and sit back down, satisfied that for now, I am alone once again.
>The rest of the night passes sleeplessly, and eventually I see dawn’s glow begin to creep through the forest like molten gold.
>Looks like I’ll live another day after all.
>
>Later on I find myself in the midst of an ancient pine forest, the great conifers having been planted in neat rows what must have been hundreds of years ago.
>The mass of goblin tracks are easy to follow, even if I’m still not sure exactly how many there are.
>The heavy crust of ice on top of the snow is enough to support my weight, even with my pack, rifle, plates, and ammo.
>It makes for very quiet movement, something I am thankful for, at least for now.
>If you’ve never hunted in pine barrens, they can be a very surreal place.
>The rows look like they stretch onwards in every direction, and sounds are strangely muffled. 
>The lack of air movement gives off a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.
>Like ancient pillars in a giant, overgrown tomb.
>When darkness starts to fall, this time I prepare a trap.
>I find a spot where one of the great pines had collapsed, and then walk about 25 yards away from it, down one of the rows of trees.
>My pack, sleeping system, and fire are set up at the base of another huge tree.
>I stuff my mummy-style sleeping bag with my spare change of clothes, and pull out my 10/22 takedown, which I assemble and lean against the tree right next to my sleeping bag.
>Sliding two of my extra magazines out of my pack, I stuff them into my pockets and strip out of my plate carrier.
>”/k/ube help me...” I think as I set down the plate carrier next to my pack, the same way I do every night. 
>Somehow this feels like a mistake, but without great risk there will be no great rewards.
>It looks fairly convincing, hopefully it will lure in whatever has been stalking me and nothing will note the much smaller rifle until it’s too late.
>I walk back to the fallen tree with my .308 and the sleeping pad that normally goes under my sleeping bag.
>I’ll allow myself at least that small comfort while I spend the night laying prone under the old pine.
>Darkness falls around me, and I click on my scope’s illumination once again. 
>Just 25 yards away, my big fire crackles and sputters as pockets of pitch ignite within the wood.
>Laying under the pine, feeling the cold creep into my body, I wonder if this is what hell is like.
>At least my “campsite” looks nice and cozy.
>I slide back the charging handle on the left side of my rifle just a little bit, and peer into the chamber.
>The side wall of a 175gr m118lr case gleams coldly back at me.
>I make sure my safety is off, too. 
>This time there will be no mistakes. Just a corpse. 
>Either mine, or that of whatever has been stalking me.
>The hours drag on, and my fire starts to die down. 
>Whenever I start to fall asleep, I just think about pale eyes watching me in the darkness.
>No pupils, no irises, just vivid blue-white orbs staring at me with a malevolent intelligence.
>I can’t help but prevent a full body shiver from creeping down my spine.
>I’m drawn out of my reverie by the sound of footsteps, following the goblin trail along the same route I came.
>My heartbeat picks up and I do my best to slow my breathing, adrenaline wiping away the remnants of any fatigue I am feeling.
>Whatever it is, it sounds like it’s not heavy enough to break through the thick crust of ice, so I know it can’t be much heavier than me.
>It sounds like it’s coming at a dead sprint though.
>I pull my rifle into the pocket of my shoulder, my index finger longing to dip down and caress the smooth curve of the trigger.
>I hear more footsteps running behind the first set, and the edge of panic starts to set it.
>How many of these fucking things can there be?
>The first set of running footsteps comes into my field of view, and I see a goblin with a subgun slow down to investigate my camp.
>Shit.
>This was not what I planned for.
>He looks over his shoulder, as I hear more footsteps approaching. 
>Three more goblins join the first, two of them carring bows, the third with a torch and what looks like a small rusty pistol.
>I can’t hear their conversation, but I don’t need to. 
>The pad of my finger contacts the cool metal of my trigger, and I place my crosshairs dead center on the torchbearer’s chest
>Then, without warning, I hear gunfire erupt several hundred yards away, and a shriek pierces the still night air.
>Miraculously, the goblins start to run off in the direction of the gunfire. 
>One of the archers lingers behind, however, and grabs my 10/22 that I had leaned against the tree, ditching his bow and arrows.
>Apparently he would rather have 10 rounds of .22lr instead.
>Fucker.
>He starts to run off after his friends, as I begin hear more sporadic gunfire off in the distance.
>Oh well, I guess it’s time to roll the dice.
>I lead him ever so slightly while he runs off after his companions, quartering away from me.
>My LWRC REPR barks once, and the goblin falls in a spray of blood.
>Piece of shit better not have scratched my 10/22 when he collapsed. 
>I crawl out from underneath the log, and standing there dumbstruck are another four goblins, not 30 yards away.
>I pivot and fire at one who’s holding a pump shotgun, dropping him before he can react.
>Two of them raise handguns, and I dive behind the fallen tree as they fire wildly at me. 
>Splinters of wood erupt from the tree as their hail of bullets hit all around me.
>They both empty their magazines at the same time, and I pop up over the log, only to see the third goblin several feet away, torch in one hand and tomahawk in the other, sprinting directly at me.
>I fire three shots reflexively, the first one going wide, but the second two taking him center mass. 
>I can see him go slack even as his momentum carries him crashing into the tree between us.
>The other two goblins have almost finished their reloads, and the lefthand one actually manages to get a shot off before I dispatch the pair with a single round each.
>The ringing in my ears is barely noticeable, and the only thought that comes to mind is how fucking GOOD it feels.
>Terrifying, but so very addictive.
>As if coming close to death somehow allows you to wring every last drop of life out of each second.
>The sound of distant gunfire has picked up now, and I know I need to move quick. 
>My adrenaline sings it’s siren song, and I take off after the sounds of combat, stopping along the way to grab my (unscratched) 10/22 from the dead goblin and sling it behind my back.
>Tiny flakes of snow begin to drift downwards through the trees, but the clouds are wispy snd thin, allowing enough moonlight through to see even here in the thick pines.
>I pull my headlamp out of my pocket and don it, leaving it switched off. 
>It would be nearly impossible to use with my rifle, but the weight of the pistol on my hip reassures me that I have options if the visibility gets too low.
>I soon see that I won’t be needing the headlamp, as I come upon a pine tree engulfed in flames, burning like a mad torch in the night.
>Around it are three more goblin corpses, two with throats torn open and the third completely disemboweled.
>Their bodies are otherwise untouched. and two have weapons still slung across their backs.
>I don’t know what it means, so I continue onwards. 
>More trees burn up ahead of me in the darkness, and I find similar carnage as the terrain slops gently downwards into a bowl.
>As I advance cautiously, I take stock of my condition. 
>I have the two spare rifle mags I stuffed into my pockets, plus the two that ride on my belt. 
>Next to them is a spare magazine of .45 acp, and behind them rides a small medical kit. 
>On my strong side ride my suppressed FNX and fixed blade knife.
>I reach to my chest to swap out magazines while things are relatively peaceful, and instantly I realize my colossal fuck up.
>My plate carrier, along with four rifle mags, my dump pouch, and my IFAK is still sitting back at my faux campsite. 
>Fuck.
>I consider going back, but shots ring out and bullets impact the ground around me. 
>I hit the dirt and blindly return fire towards the direction of the shots, hoping to suppress whoever is shooting at me.
>Six goblins are advancing through the trees at me. 
>Two with bolt actions, three with melee weapons, and one unarmed, wearing what looks like dirty robes and some sort of headdress made of feathers and bones.
>I put a round into one of the goblin riflemen as he works his bolt, and I feel the bullet from the second rifleman tear through the air just above my head. 
>My second aimed shot takes him in the upper chest, and I feel my bolt lock back.
>Empty mag.
>For some reason the goblins armed with short swords and buckers don’t rush me, but instead remain near the one with the robe.
>I begin changing magazines, making sure to stuff the empty one in my pocket, thanking the /k/ube that the other goblins don’t have ranged weapons.
>The goblin wearing the robes begins to move his hands in a strange pattern while chanting, and the hair on the back of my neck jumps to attention.
>By the time I realize what’s happening, there’s a flaming orb streaking towards me.
>I scramble up and manage to mostly get out of the way, my reload going flying out of my hand as the impact from the fireball tosses me through the air.
>I managed to evade the worst of it though, and aside from slightly singed hair and what feels like a sunburn on the side of my face, I am otherwise unharmed. 
>Bloodlust burning in their eyes, the goblins draw their steel and charge me.
>I rise up to one knee and let the heavy LWRC dangle across my chest while I draw my FNX.
>The suppressed .45 coughs, and I send a barrage of six rounds at the goblin shaman.
>Two of them take him in the left side, spinning him nearly around.
>I put two more aimed shots into him just to be sure, before switching my focus to his guards, nearly on top of me already.
>Three rounds each stop the first and second goblin, and my final round takes the last combatant in the leg.
>I reload the pistol with it’s spare mag, and leisurely holster it while I walk over to the injured goblin.
>I fish out the other rifle mag from my pocket, and slide it into my mag well with a click.
>My index finger sends the bolt forward, and I put a 175gr hollowpoint through the goblin’s head.
>His body goes limp, and the forest is quiet around me once again. 
>The crackle of burning pines is the only sound as little white snowflakes continue to drift down through the air.
>Bursts of automatic gunfire break the brief silence, and I hold my rifle in a low ready while I advance further down the gentle slope into the bowl.
>
>I end up passing several more squads of eviscerated goblins, and engaging two more groups myself. 
>Unfortunately I waste nearly two more magazines dealing with them, four of the goblins equipped with grease guns forcing me to blow through ammo to keep heads down until I can line up aimed shots.
>Thankfully though, no more shamans.
>The heat from the random burning trees has started to melt some of the snow as I near the bottom, and combined with the smoke it shrouds the pine forest in a thick white blanket.
>It’s a sight that’s both eerie and strangely beautiful.
>I can see more burning pines up ahead, and the shadows of goblins running about, firing wildly into the darkness. 
>The smoke and fog makes it difficult to engage them at a longer range, and I’m forced to work my way in closer.
>I notice that the trees here are much closer, and if not for the ones that had been set ablaze, visibility would be near zero.
>Then I see it, the mouth of a cave gaping out of a rocky outcropping jutting out of the ground, 150 yards ahead.
>A force of a dozen goblins is dug in amongst fallen pines closest to it, their attention fixed on the mouth of the cave.
>Two of the goblins wear robes similar to the shaman I dispatched earlier, the rest are armed with a mix of cheap rifles, bows, and several spears.
>There’s a burst of automatic gunfire from within the cave, and then a scream that ends in a wet gurgle.
>The shamans look at one another and begin to hurl more of the fireballs at the mouth of the cave.
>Without warning, a burning tree collapses right behind me, and to my horror the goblins turn to see me standing there, silhouetted by the blazing conifer.
>Well, here we fucking go.
> I shoulder my rifle and drill four rounds through the nearest shaman, knocking him to the ground in a spray of blood. 
>Half a dozen of the riflemen begin laying down fire, and I am forced to scramble behind the trunk of a pine as rounds skip into the ground around me, kicking up snow and dirt.
>I lean out from the left side of the tree, fire two rounds, and then I realize my magazine has run empty.
>Down to my last mag now.
>I duck back behind the tree, change it out, and this time lean out from the right hand side.
>A goblin with an AR is running between trees, and I snap two rounds into him. 
>He collapses in the snow, but his friends pick up their volume of fire and I’m forced to duck behind the tree once again. 
>Keeping the tree in between us, I sprint backwards another few yards and get behind another pine.
>Two goblins charge at my original position, firing from the hip. 
>By the time they realize I have moved, it’s too late, and they’re cut down by my LWRC.
>I hear more gunfire and screams at the mouth of the cave, but I can’t spare any attention for it.
>A fireball slams high into the tree I’m sheltering behind, causing burning twigs and branches to rain down upon me.
>Rounds impact the ground on both sides of me, and I know I am running out of time to move.
>My heartbeat pounding in my ears, adrenaline coursing through my veins like lightning, I step out from behind the tree and begin firing towards the goblins.
>I take out a spearman and a particularly large goblin wielding a mac-10 immediately, as the remaining shaman who has now turned his focus to me ducks back behind a tree. 
>I feel a sudden wetness followed by a searing pain as a round grazes my neck.
>The culprit seems to be a goblin down near the mouth of the cave, struggling to work the bolt on a scoped Remington 700p that is comically large for him.
>I send a pair of 175gr bullets into his chest, interrupting his reload.
>I swivel back to fire a couple rounds into the tree that the shaman has taken cover behind, keeping his head down.
>I know I must be getting low on ammo, but I have never been good at counting rounds.
>Why did I have to cheap out and purchase the non-windowed pmags?
>Fucking idiot.
>I take out two more spearmen with a single round each, and begin advancing toward the pinned down shaman.
>My peripheral vision catches movement, and even as I turn to face the new threat, I know I am too late.
>A goblin with a shortbow has leaned out from behind a tree and is sighting down the length of his arrow at me.
>As if watching in slow motion, I pull up my rifle and I see his fingers release the missile.
>My scope comes into my field of view, crosshair floating over the archer, and I squeeze.
>His arrow takes me in the left side, thankfully embedding itself in one of my ribs.
>It’s still enough to knock the wind out of me, and I fall to my side as the archer crumples to the ground.
>The shaman steps out from behind the tree, already incanting. 
>I fire two more rounds at him, but both go wide and I feel my bolt lock back.
>Empty.
>With my vision swimming, I let the rifle fall across my chest and stagger behind the closest great pine.
>As I slump down behind it, my rifle knocks against the arrow, sending waves of pain through me. 
>I gasp, and for a second I struggle to remain conscious.
>A fireball slams into the huge conifer, and all I can smell is the scent of gunpowder and burning pine pitch.
>One task at a time, Anon. 
>Focus.
>I maneuver the heavy rifle out of the way, and pull out my .45.
>15 rounds left, better make them count.
>I take a deep breath, sucking in air, and force myself to my feet.
>Another fireball slams into the tree, nearly knocking me prone, but I somehow remain standing.
>I disengage my pistol’s safety, one hand on the trunk of the tree for stability, as I prepare to confront death.
>The goblin lets out a muffled curse, and I hear a wet sound from the other side of the tree.
>I step out and instantly freeze as my blood turns to ice.
>In the flickering light of the burning pines, I see that the goblin shaman is down, his body splayed out on his back in an unnatural pose.
>His throat is a bloody mess of torn flesh and tissue, and a dark form lurks behind him.
>I want to raise my gun, but my body is frozen with fear and shock, and it seems like time has once again forgotten me.
>I struggle to make sense of what I am seeing.
>A smooth alabaster skull that looks like a twisted fusion of a cervid and canine, albeit with antlers, has it’s mouth lowered to the ruined neck of the shaman. 
>Wickedly sharp teeth gleam in the light thrown from the nearby flames. 
>A thick mane of black, shoulder-length hair surrounds the skull, and behind the small antlers I can see two ears jutting up atop it’s head.
>It’s body appears to be covered in short, dark fur, and it’s crouching form suggests a lean, muscular strength. 
>There are several bullet wounds in the arms and upper torso, but it seems unconcerned. 
>I notice a clawed hand holding the shaman by the back of the neck, and I can see the creature’s cavernous, empty eyesockets as it leisurely laps up blood with a long, black tongue.
>As I stand there transfixed in mute horror, it finally decides to acknowledge me and raise it’s eyes up to meet mine.
>Twin orbs burn like jewels in the inky pools of it’s eye sockets, taking me in with a cold, blue-white gaze.
>Suddenly everything clicks in my mind, and I realize I am face to face with the thing that has been stalking me.
>Oh. 
>Fuck.
>Slowly, the creature stands, rising up to it’s full height.
>It’s easily as tall as I am, although it’s narrow waist and curving hips suggest it probably weighs somewhat less than I do.
>Eyes locked on mine, it cocks it head to the side, and speaks.
>”What’s wrong, were you expecting another goblin?”
>It’s voice is husky, a sultry purr dripping with menace.
>It seems to leer at me through a toothy grin while it waits for me to respond.
>My heart races at million beats a minute, and a flurry of thoughts run through my mind.
>I toy with the thought of raising my pistol, but my hand shifts on the grip, telegraphing my move.
>It’s eyes flick down and notice the gun.
>”That seems like a bad idea, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t you rather talk?” it says, halfway between coy and mocking.
>It’s manner seems unconcerned, almost lazy, but any fool could see the veiled threat there.
>I’m far too close for me to get my pistol up in time, and we both know it.
>It would seem like I’m about to be dead either way.
>I might as well draw things out a bit, perhaps create an opening in which I can try to kill it.
>It? 
>Her?
>The difference seems academic at best, given my current circumstances.
>I clear my throat.
>”Okay, I’m going to holster my weapon now. Just... keep your distance, alright?”
>I swear I see it’s grin grow even wider.
>Slowly, I raise up my pistol and engage the safety, muzzle pointed at the ground the entire time.
>It slides back into my holster, where it clicks in securely once again.
>Those luminous eyes follow my weapon intently, an almost fascinated look on it’s face.
>Well, at least it’s eyes seem fascinated.
>Satisfied now that my weapon is holstered, it looks down at the body of the shaman.
>”You don’t mind, if I...?”
>It motions to the corpse.
>”Ah, no... go ahead,” I manage to stammer out.
>As it drinks in the life seeping out of the dead shaman, I notice that the wounds I first saw are no longer visible. 
>It may be a trick of the light, but it even seems somehow less gaunt, more alive. 
>I see it’s clothed itself in strips of dark cloth wrapped around it’s waist, and similar material is covering it’s breasts.
>That clears that up at least.
>As she feeds, she keeps her pale eyes fixed on me, eventually raising her head once again.
>”Hungry?” She asks with what feels like a mocking smile.
>The question catches me off guard.
>My eyes widen in horror and I half cough, half laugh at the absurdity of it.
>The movement sends a fresh wave of pain lancing through me, and my vision swims momentarily.
>I reach out a steadying hand behind me, and slump down against the trunk of the pine.
>With a grimace, I grab my rifle and pull it off of me, leaning it against the tree next to me.
>I glance up with a start and notice that she’s taken several steps towards me, but seems to hesitate in closing the distance completely.
>Her eyes follow my every movement while watching me fish around behind myself for my small medical kit, content to observe what I’m doing.
>I open it and pull out a gauze pad from behind the tourniquet, then I press it into my neck with a wince.
>Without a mirror it’s hard to tell, but I think it’s just a deep graze.
>The arrow jutting out of my side, however, is a different problem entirely.
>A problem I have never dealt with.
>At least it doesn’t seem to be bleeding much.
>I glance up and see that she’s still watching me curiously.
>“You know, for a human, you’re very good at killing. You are a human, right?”
>I smile a faint smile.
>”Yes... And call it beginner’s luck.”
>I know I should feel more afraid, but between the fighting, the blood loss, and now the near certainty of imminent death, I feel the last few fucks I have to give slipping away.
>The thin line between bravado and foolishness seems to blur.
>”Never killed a human before?” I ask, meeting her pale gaze.
>She chuckles softly at the directness of my question.
>“You’re the first one I’ve met.”
>”Well, first time for everything I guess.” I say wryly.
>The stare she gives me in return is withering.
>“I don’t play with my food. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you three nights ago in your sleep.” She says matter-of-factly.
>”Why didn’t you?” I blurt out. “You’re a, uh...”
>Her head tilts down ever so slightly, and I get the impression of someone raising their eyebrows.
>”A skinwalker?” I say quietly.
>Her grin seems to grow wider, and she leans in a little closer to me.
>”You sound like you’re unsure.” 
>I wonder if she can sense my embarrassment.
>”I mean, it just doesn’t really match with the stories I’ve heard. No smell of rotten flesh and copper, no stealing someone’s form to lure me in...” 
>I trail off as she leans closer yet, stretching out a clawed hand.
>”Oh, now I understand. Are you afraid that I’m going to take your skin?”
>Her eyes bore into me, and she runs a single claw-like nail down my cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood, but it’s enough to make me acutely aware of how sharp they are.
>My heart is pounding out of my chest now, and she maintains the closeness for a long few seconds before leaning back and answering her own question.
>“You don’t have to worry, it would do me no good if I did.” She says flatly.
>I get the sense that comment was meant to end my line of questions, but curiosity gets the better of me.
>”Do you mean you can’t change forms?”
>As soon as the question leaves my mouth I instantly regret it.
>”What do you think, human?.” She growls, her sudden irritation clear.
>”Why do I look like this and not a poor, sweet, helpless elf maiden?”
>Smooth, Anon. 
>Piss off the literal fucking skinwalker sitting two feet in front of you.
>Her response only raises more questions, but with her sudden defensiveness I attempt to defuse the situation.
>”Well, regardless I appreciate keeping my skin, so... thanks.”
>I swear I see her smirk a bit.
>”Maybe I should thank you. Bullets can hurt me, but that’s about the best they can do. Magic, on the other hand... Magic can kill me.” She finishes quietly.
>I shudder a little and think about what would have happened had I tried to shoot instead of holstering my pistol.
>I notice her eyes on the arrow protruding from my ribs.
>”Are you going to ask me to help you with that? Or are you going to lay here all night chatting with an arrow sticking out of you?”
>Oh fuck.
>Actually I had been hoping that if I ignored the problem long enough it would disappear.
>Stupid fucking goblins.
>I nod my head.
>”Just be fast, please.”
>The skinwalker crouches in front of me with one hand on my collarbone, pushing me back into the tree. I can feel the tiny pinpricks of her clawed fingers, and her hot breath washes over my neck, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake.
>The thought of making a “my, what sharp teeth you have!” joke crosses my mind, but it’s not like she would understand the reference anyways.
>A shiver crawls it’s way down my spine as I realize what a vulnerable position I am in, and she pauses, glancing over at me. 
>”Are you ready?” She asks, her voice a husky whisper 
>Before I can respond, her other hand grips the arrow shaft and she pulls it out with a sharp tug.
>Searing pain erupts across my side, and I feel myself lose consciousness and collapse forward onto a startled skinwalker.
>
>I wake up from a sleep plagued with dreams of being stalked through a snowy forest, like some sort of prey animal.
>Never quite being able to run far enough or hide well enough to feel safe.
>It takes me a few minutes to separate the dreams from reality, trying to piece back together the events of yesterday as I rub the sleep from my eyes and open them up.
>I find myseld laying on my back, looking up at an arched ceiling made of smooth stone.
>Turning my head and rolling my body over to the side, it feels as though I’ve been hit by a truck.
>I grit my teeth, force down a wave of nausea, and glance around at my surroundings.
>It looks like I’m in some sort of underground room. 
>The walls are carved of solid rock, with several recesses holding ancient wooden chests and old bundles of firewood.
>There are geometric designs I don’t recognize carved along the edges of the walls, and flat stone tiles line the floor.
>I am laying in one of four spacious sleeping alcoves carved into one wall, and across the room a sloppily constructed fire smolders in a fireplace carved with more of the strange geometric designs.
>Two hallways opposite one another provide exits, and a small stone table in the center with four carved seats around it completes the minimalistic layout of the room.
>If Tolkien taught me anything, I would guess I am in some sort of dwarven structure.
>I reach down and unzip my sleeping bag-
>Wait.
>What the fuck?
>I’m laying in my sleeping bag. In the corner of the room, my rifle leans against the wall, next to my pack. My plate carrier waits for me right beside it, and even the 10/22 is there.
>As I struggle to my feet another wave of nausea washes over me, but I manage to keep my composure.
>Clearly there are a lot of questions that need answering, but before anything else I need to get dressed and re-armed.
>I look down at my chest and find one of the gauze pads from my medical kit has been applied to the arrow wound. The skin around it is an angry reddish-purple, but it doesn’t seem to have bled much at least.
>My clothing is draped over the back of a stone chair, and after rummaging around in my pack for a fresh under layer I dress and clip on my belt. 
>The reassurance of the suppressed .45 caliber FNX on my hip does wonders to easy my mind. 
>I notice the fire has almost sputtered out, and I take a few minutes to rearrange the smoldering embers, allowing enough airflow for it to re-ignite with only a few breaths.
>Someone clears their throat behind me, and I turn with one hand reflexively going to my pistol.
>I nearly jump out of my skin upon seeing face like smooth alabaster peek around the corner at me from the adjoining hallway.
>”I’m glad you finally woke up, I was beginning to get bored.”
>As the skinwalker steps out and crosses the room to lean beside the fireplace, I can’t help but notice the way in which she moves.
>It’s the same deadly, self-assured grace you would see in a panther or mountain lion. No wasted energy, but not quite lazy either. Just a smooth economy of motion that hints at the supreme confidence of an apex predator.
>I imagine it must be how an antelope feels, standing perfectly frozen while it watches a lioness slink out of the grass to join it at the watering hole.
>“I assumed you wouldn’t want to leave all your things outside, so I followed your tracks and gathered everything from that campsite you made.”
>Her voice is sweet and rich, but there always seems to be a hint of menace lurking behind it, like honey dripping over a razor’s edge.
>“I’m flattered that you set up a little ambush just for me. I must have been on your mind a lot recently, hmmm?”
>She seems more amused than upset about my attempt to turn the tables and hunt the hunter, so that much is good at least.
>I decide to dodge the question, not willing to giving her the satisfaction.
>”Thank you, uh, for your hospitality... and for the care.” I respond, motioning to the gauze pad she must have applied while I was unconscious.
>I look around the room, already knowing the answer to the question I am about to ask. 
>”Is this place your home? I didn’t really take your kind as stonecutters.”
>”The previous occupants didn’t need it anymore.” She says with a predatory grin.
>”I believe it was built by dwarves as a place to hide out, but when I found it there was a clan of orcs living here. It isn’t very big, really more of a bunker than anything, but it suits my needs.”
>I am about to ask how long ago she ‘found’ it when my stomach growls loudly.
>”Speaking of needs... I was wondering how often you humans needed to feed. I would really like to see this. Go ahead, just pretend I’m not here.”
>She saunters over and sits down in one of the stone chairs, her feet kicked up upon the table and her gaze watching me expectantly.
>Pale eyes burning with curiosity.
>I laugh despite the pain in my ribs.
>”I don’t think you’ll find it very exciting, but you’re welcome to watch.” I reply as I set about digging around in my pack for my canteen and a freeze dried meal.
>It might be my mind playing tricks on me again, but her ever-present grin seems to widen.
>”Oh I find you plenty exciting... Anon.”
>My breath catches in my throat, and sends me into a fit of coughing.
>I try to ignore the not-so-subtle implication and instead focus on the fact that she somehow knew my name.
>The only possible explanation is that she got curious and read it off my dog tags while I was out cold.
>This, of course, means she can read english.
>I don’t understand the full implications of that, but I store it in the back of my mind to ponder later.
>By now my water is boiling and I tear open the package of the freeze-dried meal, tossing the desiccant packet into the flames.
>As I pour in the water, the delicious smell of (you guessed it) biscuits and gravy fills the room.
>For whatever reason, my stomach decides now is the time to practice backflips, murdering my hunger with another wave of nauseous sensations.
>While I wait for the meal to be ready, I turn back around to face the skinwalker.
>She hasn’t moved, evidently content to lounge and observe me going about my business.
>I still don’t know her name, or if she even has one.
>Based on how touchy she seemed the night before when I started asking questions, I am hesitant to pry, but she obviously had no problem finding where mine was written.
>Fuck it.
>”You know my name now. It’s only fair if you tell me yours.” I ask her.
>Her eyes light up at this, and instead of some quip or innuendo she seems to let her guard down, even if only for a second.
>”You’re the first person to ask me that, Anon.”
>Her voice is soft and quiet, as if suddenly lost in though.
>”My name is Malorie, but you can call me Mal.”
>I am now on a first name basis with a skinwalker.
>Sitting in her... Living room? Having a casual conversation.
>The strangest part is that she doesn’t seem that bad.
>Aside from the part where half the time I think she wants to kill me, and the other half...
>Well, her innuendo is obvious.
>/k/ube help me, this isn’t at all what I expected when I decided to step through that portal.
>Finally my meal is ready and I begin to methodically force it down despite the sick feeling that keeps coming and going.
>Halfway through I look up.
>Mal’s head is cocked slightly to one side, and she’s leaning forward, closely watching me eat.
>Suddenly, an idea takes form in my mind.
>I hold out the bag towards her and smile, stealing her own words from last night.
>“Hungry?” I ask with a grin.
>To my surprise she reaches out and takes the meal gently in one hand, careful not to puncture it with razor-sharp claws.
>The skinwalker lifts the spoon to her mouth, and her eyes go wide.
>Spitting and coughing, she thrusts the bag back towards me.
>This time I can’t help but laugh, and even though she glares daggers at me, her voice betrays her own amusement.
>“Do ALL humans eat like that!?”
>I recall some of the MREs I’ve choked down in the past.
>Fuck you, cheese omelette.
>”No, these are just for traveling. I like them because they pack lightly and I only need water to cook them.” I respond.
>The skinwalker gives me what amounts to a dirty look.
>”I’m disappointed, Anon. With all that preparation I expected it to taste better than something... fresh.”
>I shrug, and finish my meal.
>Either way I think they’re pretty damn good.
>
>Later that day we decide to head out and survey the carnage from the night before.
>Before leaving, I empty out my pack and get ready for what will likely be a serious leg day.
>As we step outside, I notice that the mouth of the cave appears small and natural upon first inspection.
>However, a cleverly disguised door behind a pair of stalactites opens into a small entryway, with a hall leading back towards the room I awoke in and whatever lies deeper inside the rest of the bunker.
>The air outside is crisp and cold, minuscule snowflakes drifting down through the trees to cover everything in a fine white dust.
>There’s a faint smell of blood and cinder in the air, but the gentle snowfall has already begun covering the remains of the violent night.
>We walk through the forest together, slowly fanning out through the charred husks of the big pine trees, picking up weapons as we go.
>With each new firearm we pick up, she bombards me with questions about it’s purpose and history. 
>I try to answer as best I can, but I’m far from an expert.
>Most of the armaments used by the goblins seem cheap and poorly cared for, but there are a few we find that stand out.
>When I stop to investigate the goblin who nearly took my head off with a scoped rifle, I find that it is indeed a remington 700p in .308, wearing an older leupold mk4 scope.
>Even better, I immediately recognize the dozen brown boxes of ammunition stuffed in the goblin’s pack.
>20 CRTG. 7.62MM
>LONG RANGE M118
>The skinwalker doesn’t understand my excitement, but the longer I can keep using the same type of ammo, the less I’ll have to waste re-zeroing and figuring out my come-ups again.
>Other notable finds include an couple m91/30’s and a russian sks, a short barreled AR in .300 blackout, a mossberg 500, and several AK’s in 7.62x39 that look like they’ve seen better days. 
>We spend the rest of the afternoon looting, and I even manage to find the mag I had dropped. 
>A fair sized accumulation of coins of all different shapes and sizes, scavenged from the corpses rounds out our haul for the day.
>Between the weapons, ammo, magazines, and other random pieces of useful kit we scavenge, we end up loading two packs to the brim with weapons and gear, as well as a duffle bag full of assorted pistols and ammo.
>As we head back to her dwelling, I notice Mal eyeing the plethora of rifles stuffed into my backpack.
>I can tell she’s still curious about them.
>Maybe I’ll ask her if she wants to do some shooting tomorrow.
>There’s a scary thought.
>Finally we are ready to return to the cave, but the nauseating feeling from earlier has returned.
>Despite stripping out of my jacket and mid layer, I’m sweating bullets in the cold winter air.
>I try to push through it, at least until we get the guns inside.
>By the time we’re through the cave’s hidden door and into the small entry room, it’s taking all of my willpower to keep myself from collapsing onto the ground.
>Something is wrong.
>I pull out the guns one by one, including my own, and set down our haul in the middle of the entryway. 
>I’ll field strip them and clean them when I’m feeling better.
>A fresh wave of nausea courses through me, and I run back outside, barely making it out into the crisp night air in time.
>I lift up my shirt, and see the the wound from the arrow has started to turn a sickly purple-grey color around the edges.
>Fuck.
>So much for ignoring the problem.
>I turn around and catch Malorie watching me from inside the cave, her head slightly tilted, eyes shining like pale gemstones sunken in dark water.
>Her luminous eyes miss nothing, even in the growing twilight.
>”The wound from that poisoned arrow you took is beginning to look bad. Is this something you should be concerned with?”
>Poisoned arrow...?
>FUCK.
>My heart begins to sink.
>That shitty little goblin may have managed to kill me after all.
>”Are you sure it was a poisoned arrow?” I ask, feeling an icy clarity overtake me.
>”I have never known this tribe to use anything else. I never paid it any mind because poisons have no effect on my kind.”
>She takes a few steps toward me, an incredulous look in her eyes.
>”Are humans not even resistant to poisons? I had thought you were immune, the way you left that arrow in for so long last night.”
>/k/ube save me from my own stupidity...
>I shake my head ‘no’.
>”Poison isn’t really a concern where I am from. It never even crossed my mind.” I explain.
>Her eyes remain wide with disbelief.
>”Anon, we’re nearly three weeks’ travel from the edge of civilization. You chose a terrible place to let a goblin stick you with one of those.”
>Her eyes narrow.
>”What about where you came from? If there’s a portal nearby, I will help you reach it...”
>Her uncharacteristic concern towards me is surprising, and I can’t help but let a half smile creeps across my face.
>I guess it makes sense though, I suspect I am the only person she knows.
>”It took me about two and a half weeks to get here.” I say softly.
>The bleak realization that I would never be able to make it that far is an unpleasant one.
>For the second time in as many days, I am confronted with death.
>This feels different though. 
>There’s no enemy I can fight, no adversary to be overcome.
>“How long do I have?” I ask her, my voice a flat monotone.
>“I don’t know. Most of the elves I have seen with goblin arrows in them were corpses.”
>The skinwalker raises her head slowly, a playful light in her eyes at odds with the dire situation as she eyes me up and down.
>”You look... hardier than an elf though, perhaps a few days of rest here will be all you need to pull through.”
>Even to me, her sudden optimism sounds a bit forced.
>I hope she’s right, but a nagging thought in the back of my head is screaming otherwise.
>
>By the next morning, my condition has worsened considerably.
>Even the simple task of getting up and dressed leaves me exhausted and breathing like I had just run a sprint.
>I doubt I would be able to keep any food down, even if I had an appetite.
>After putting on my clothing and boots, I spend a minute agonizing over whether it’s even worth clipping on my belt and carrying the extra weight. 
>Eventually I decide to leave it laying on the stone table in the center of the room. 
>I feel vulnerable without the comfort of the pistol and knife, but I am certain that the only security they could provide for me right now is psychological.
>...
>My knife’s sheath detaches easily, and I feel it’s weight settle into my side pocket. 
>Much better.
>Even though I may not be in any condition to fight, being unarmed just feels... wrong.
>I take a moment to tend to the fire in the stone fireplace, and gaze around the room.
>To my left lies the hallway that leads out towards the small entry room, and the concealed cave entrance.
>Opposite it, on the righthand side of the room, lies a hallway that heads deeper down into the ancient dwarven complex.
>The hallway that presumably leads to the skinwalker’s chambers.
>The light from the little fire doesn’t do much to penetrate the thick subterranean gloom, so I take out my headlamp and click it onto the “low” setting before cautiously making my way down the hall.
>It’s longer than I initially anticipated, and although it has ancient torches resting in brass sconces along the wall, none of them are lit.
>I grab one, only to find that it’s covered in dust and cobwebs.
>Does this mean that she can see in total darkness?
>I click the switch on my headlamp once again, increasing the illumination it provides.
>Up ahead, there seems to be an intersection.
>As I get closer, I can hear the sound of moving water coming from the right.
>I peek around the corner, and see a circular room, no larger than 10 feet in diameter.
>Short, wide steps lead down into a circular pool of water, and opposite me a small recess in the wall holds an ornate pitcher carved out of stone.
>A generous stream of water pours from the mouth of the pitcher down into the pool, where it must drain somehow back into the earth.
>On a whim, I step closer to the pool and stick my hand into the water, only to pull it back with a gasp.
>It isn’t very deep looking, but it’s icy cold.
>I make a mental note to refill my canteen and the water bladder in my pack, and then turn around to check the left side of the intersection.
>A stout wooden door, banded with brass, bars my way. 
>I try the brass ring that serves as a handle, but the door is locked.
>That leaves me one direction to go, deeper still down the tunnel.
>Not much further, the hallway terminates at another of the heavy wood doors.
>This one, however, is slightly ajar.
>Not wanting to intrude, I clear my throat before I slowly begin pushing the door open.
>”...Mal?”
>I hear a startled gasp, and something in the dark room slams shut and thumps heavily onto the stone floor.
>After that, silence.
>I pause for a second, and then cautiously open the door the rest of the way before stepping inside.
>The room is more spacious than I would have anticipated, rectangular in shape with a slightly raised stone dias in the center, opposite the door.
>Upon the dias is what appears to be a large bed, the four poster frame made of stone and intricately carved with runes.
>The bedding and sheets, which seem to be comprised of a mix of animal skins and woolen blankets, are crumpled and disturbed as if someone hastily threw them off to jump out of the bed.
>Next to the edge of the bed, a heavy leather-bound book rests where it was carelessly thrown onto the floor.
>My gaze wanders around the room, headlamp illuminating first the left side, then the right.
>To the left are a pair of comfortable looking chairs in the corner, and behind them row upon row of bookshelves carved into the rock.
>To the right, what must be a desk and a workbench sit next to some ancient looking wooden chests, covered in cobwebs and the dust of ages.
>I step forward, headlamp fixed on the fallen book, when I hear a voice directly behind me. 
>”Good morning, Anon. Feeling a little adventurous today?”
>She’s so close I can feel her warm breath against the back of my neck.
>I inhale sharply, freezing in my tracks at how silently she crept up behind me.
>”Good morning... I didn’t know if you were here,” I respond, trying my hardest not to sound startled.
>”You know, if you were lonely out there, all you had to do was ask.”
>She leans her head over my shoulder to whisper into my ear.
>”No need to go sneaking around in the dark... unless of course that’s how you prefer it.”
>One by one, the hairs on the back of my neck pick themselves up.
>I turn around and take a step backwards, trying to determine how serious she is.
>With an amused look in her eyes, she takes a small step closer, her ever-present grin looking suspiciously coy.
>I take another step back while she advances, knowing that the bed is practically right behind me-
>Oh.
>Oh no.
>/k/ube help me, I am nowhere near ready for this.
>I take one last step back when my foot bumps against something on the ground.
>The skinwalker’s eyes flick down to the book laying next to me on the floor, and then back up to mine, wider than they were before.
>A smile begins to creep across my face as I put two and two together.
>I glance down at the book, laying face down next to my foot.
>”Oh, don’t worry about that. I think you have more pressing concerns, don’t you?”
>Her voice is no longer sultry and seductive, there’s almost an edge of panic to her tone now.
>I look up at her again, and see a pleading look in her eyes, as if she’s willing me to ignore the book.
>Giving her my best shit-eating grin, I reach down to pick it up, only to be intercepted as she darts forward and quickly snatches it.
>”I didn’t take you for a bookworm, Malorie.” I say as I try to peer at the book she’s holding between her arms.
>SEVEN SENSU-
>OF BIG HUMA-
>I can only make out some of the title before she shifts the book underneath an arm.
>”I-I’m not! I mean, I do enjoy reading occasionally...” She responds, clearly flustered.
>I look over at the bookshelves carved into the side of the room.
>Hundreds of volumes, but not a single cobweb in sight.
>The skinwalker rolls her eyes and stalks over to place the volume back into the shelf. muttering under her breath.
>I would almost say her embarrassment is cute, if I wasn’t too busy dying.
>As if on cue, a fit of coughing overtakes me, leaving me lightheaded.
>Tiny specks of bright red blood dot the palm of my hand, snapping me back to the reality of the situation.
>Damn. 
>My hand subconsciously goes to the small /k/ube medallion hanging from my neck.
>For some reason, I had always thought that I would die with a rifle in my hand, fighting for some great cause. 
>Perhaps a little foolish or idealistic, but I just can’t bring myself to accept what seems to be happening.
>The urge to cough begins building again, and this time I’m sharply aware of the dull pain in my stomach and chest.
>I can already tell, today is going to be a very long day.
>
>Eventually, night falls.
>I can tell the end is drawing near.
>I can feel my organs beginning to fail me.
>At this point, I’m unable to do more than lay in the spacious alcove I’ve been sleeping in for the past few nights, propped up against the wall.
>Waiting for death to come and take me.
>I spent the remainder of the day teaching Malorie as much as I could about the stash of weapons we had accumulated.
>How to field strip them, clean them, and as much about their use as I could describe.
>I explained the fundamentals of marksmanship to her, and even had her do a little dry fire practice inside.
>How to zero the guns, use optics, and a mini crash course in ballistics completed her introduction to firearms.
>It’s not the best, but it’s the best I can do given the circumstances.
>I would really have liked to take her out shooting for her first time, but it seems fate has other plans for me instead.
>I’m thankful that she’s as tall as I am, and not some tiny little elf. 
>My LWRC will look good slung over her shoulder, and she should easily be able to handle it’s heavy weight.
>I call her over, wanting to do this before I run out of time.
“Hey... There’s something I’d like you to have, when I don’t need it anymore.”
>She sees the rifle leaning against the wall next to me, and starts to protest.
>“Anon, I don’t want you to do this.”
>Her luminous eyes are downcast, refusing to meet my gaze.
>Her voice is soft and low, no flirtatious teasing or coy innuendos.
>I give her a half smile in between a few coughs.
>”It’s okay Mal. I had a pretty good run.”
>My bravado may be a bit forced, but at this point acceptance is the only thing left.
>She looks at me for a moment, a blank expression in her eyes, saying nothing.
>Eventually, she speaks.
>”Are you really so willing to die?”
>The question catches me off guard, and I answer her frankly.
>”Honestly, no. Not at all. But it seems like I don’t really have a choice.”
>The skinwalker sighs, a resigned, defeated sound.
>”You do have a choice.” 
>I feel a spark of hope flare up inside me, a tiny ember struggling to take flame.
>”There may be a way for me to save you, but it will be... uncomfortable. In more ways than one.”
>She glances up at me, as if she doesn’t want to bring herself to continue.
>”Also, there is a possibility that it will simply kill you outright. So I can promise you nothing... All I offer is a chance.”
>Her hesitation is concerning, but any chance, even a slim one, is better than nothing.
>I look up at her, hope written across my features, plain as day.
>”Please,” 
>The single word echoes in my mind after I speak it, a narrow lifeline threatening to snap at any second.
>She sits down next to me, so close I can feel the heat of her leg next to mine.
>”It is very simple, but I need to you trust me.”
>Her eyes stare into me, her piercing gaze reminiscent of a bird of prey about to dive.
>”Okay.” I nod once.
>She slowly reaches a hand up as if to caress my face, but it pauses, hovering over the bandage on my neck from where the bullet grazed me.
>”There is power in blood, Anon. It can heal or harm, bless or curse...” She says softly.
>I feel the tip of her clawed finger slide under the edge of the bandage.
>She slowly pulls it away, exposing the wound and causing a warm rivulet of blood to trickle down the side of my neck.
>”Do you remember when I said poisons do not effect me?” She murmurs, her voice strangely hushed.
>The same razor sharp nail reaches up towards her open mouth, where she runs it a short length down her dark tongue.
>At first I think she’s simply tasting my blood, but then I notice her own thick, black blood welling up in the wake of her fingertip.
>My heart begins to beat a wild tattoo upon the realization of what is about to happen.
>I take a deep breath, holding very still.
>Placing one hand delicately along my jawline, she tilts my head to the side.
>Slowly, the skinwalker lowers her head down into the crook of my neck.
>The act is undeniably intimate, a twisted parody of a kiss.
>I feel the sharpness of her teeth against my neck, and the warmth of her tongue against my skin sends a shiver down my spine.
>I can feel the blood begin to mix, and suddenly my awareness collapses into a sickening, icy cold radiating out from my neck.
>Excruciating pain tenses every muscle in my body at once, each nerve screaming out in a chorus of protest.
>Her grip on me is firm, though, and she bears her weight down on me with surprising strength, preventing me from breaking the embrace.
>My conscious thought shatters like a pane of glass, and the last thing to run through my mind is that I should have chosen death instead.
>
>Slowly, awareness returns.
>Some nameless instinct is welling up inside my chest, screaming out at me to breathe, to be alive.
>I remember the all consuming coldness that overwhelmed me.
>The icy, searing pain that I could never have imagined.
>The pain is gone now, though, nothing but a hazy memory.
>My body feels chilled and numb, as if I had been sleeping at the bottom of a frozen lake for weeks and only just now surfaced.
>I gasp in a lungful of air, it’s sweet rush enough to make me instantly lightheaded.
>The feeling is intoxicating and I breathe greedily, like a man dying of thirst who stumbled upon an oasis.
>Feeling slowly starts to return to my body, each breath warming me from the inside out.
>I open my eyes, and the stone ceiling of the dwarven chamber greets me.
>Trying not to shiver uncontrollably, I sit up and slide my feet off the edge of the sleeping alcove. 
>”Welcome back, Anon.” A familiar voice greets me.
>The skinwalker stands up from where she had been seated at the table, a heavy wool blanket in her hands.
>She walks over and hands it to me, which I take with a grateful smile and wrap around my shoulders.
>”Do you feel better now? You slept for nearly a day and a half.”
>I reach down and lift up my shirt, exposing the site where the arrow hit me.
>”I feel more like it was a month, and I slept under a glacier.” I grin back at her.
>A small, white scar is all that remains of the arrow wound.
>I run my finger across it, thinking back to the night before.
>”I don’t understand what happened though... How did you know that your blood would stop the poison?”
>She cocks her head ever so slightly to the side, seemingly deciding how to answer my abrupt question.
>”I told you that blood has power. So too does intent. You accepted it willingly, not wanting to die, and that is what made it possible.”
>”Like a magic spell?” I ask.
>She shifts in her seat a little, pausing again before responding.
>”Not exactly, more like... a ritual. I have never been able to perform magic of my own, but I am still a creature of supernatural origin. That power flows through my veins regardless.”
>Her openness surprises me, but perhaps she feels more willing to trust me now.
>For a moment, she seems to want to add something more, but then decides against it.
>”I think I understand. Even though you have no magic, because of your nature you are still immune to things like poison. So when you, uh, did that blood thing, you were able to share some of that nature with me?”
>”Yes... Something like that.” She says as she abruptly walks back over to the stone table, where I notice an opened US military MRE leaning up against a large rock I didn’t remember being there.
>”You must be hungry, it’s been days since you’ve eaten anything.”
>She returns to me and eagerly holds out the entree and spoon, which I gratefully accept.
>Southwest beef and black beans.
>Nice.
>Not only does she save my life, but she makes me breakfast too.
>I wouldn’t expect another /k/ommando to understand, but this skinwalker is really starting to grow on me.
>Her sudden change of topic doesn’t escape my notice, but neither does the fact that she’s right. 
>I am absolutely starving.
>However, I didn’t remember bringing any MREs.
>I thought I had only brought freeze dried backpacking meals.
>”Thank you, Mal. I have to ask though, where did you get this?”
>”I found it. In the woods.” She responds in a playful tone.
>...
>Nope.
>I’m not even gonna ask.
>I was never really one to look a gift horse in the mouth anyways.
>As I dig into the MRE, she returns to the table to sprawl lazily in one of the carven stone chairs.
>Between the food and the feeling of warmth slowly returning to my body, I take a moment to reflect on how good it feels to simply be alive.
>For a moment, we share a comfortable silence together as I enjoy the simple pleasure of a meal.
>While she watches me eat, Mal reaches over and absentmindedly runs a claw-like nail through the discarded MRE package, the thick plastic giving way easily to the razor sharp point.
>”You humans have some very strange cooking rituals, you know. I don’t understand why you would need to use such an elaborate setup of inscribed boxes and bags and water just to warm your meal. Why not just cook over a fire like other races?”
>She presses on, as if this has been bothering her for some time.
>”And tell me, Anon. ‘Rock or something’? What is that supposed to mean? What if I chose the wrong ‘something’ and it caused the cooking ritual to fail? It seems to me like with all the magic you humans have, you would be a little better with your instructions.”
>As she expounds on the failures of human ‘magic’, a smirk begins to grow across my face.
>I wonder how she’ll react when I tell her that my world has no magic.
>Or at least, not until the portals opened up.
>Only one way to find out.
>”It’s... actually not magic at all. Just alchemy, I guess. My homeworld doesn’t even have magic.”
>The skinwalker laughs out loud at this, a surprisingly rich and velvety sound.
>I continue even though the look she gives me makes it clear she thinks I’m joking.
>”I know, it sounds crazy, but I’m serious. Humanity is as much race of alchemists and inventors as we are explorers or warriors.”
>Still laughing, she rolls her eyes.
>”So now the human with the glowing crystal headband that throws starlight and the food that never goes bad, who came to my world through a *magic portal*, is telling me that his world has no magic.”
>She sighs, her voice caught halfway between exasperation and amusement.
>”You are a very fascinating creature, Anon. I would have been very upset if that goblin poison managed to kill you before I could properly thank you for helping me kill those shamans...”
>”You don’t owe me anything, Mal. You just saved my life. If anything, I owe you.”
>Even as I say it, the truth of the statement reverberates through my mind.
>/k/ube save me, I am in debt to a skinwalker.
>As I carefully consider how to phrase what I’m about to say next, I cannot help but wonder if it would be wiser to just keep my mouth shut and let honor be damned.
>Unfortunately, I never claimed to be a wise man.
>Might as well be an honorable one.
>I take a deep breath before the plunge, and hope that this isn’t a mistake.
>”The way I see it, I’d be dead otherwise, so I have an obligation to you.
>I pause for a second, meeting her pale, ethereal gaze.
>”I came here to explore a new world and to live a life that actually means something, but I wouldn’t feel right moving on until I repay you somehow. If there’s anything you’d like to ask of me, whatever you might want, I’ll do whatever’s in my power to see it through.”
>The skinwalker places a clawed finger up to her teeth, suddenly coy.
>Her eyes slide up and down, looking me over with a predatory glow.
>”Whatever I might want, hmmm?” She grins at me.
>I catch myself actually starting to blush a bit at her innuendo.
>”I’ll have to think on it. Give me until the end of the day tomorrow, and then I’ll ask my favor of you.”
>I give her a solemn nod, knowing that her request hanging over my head will weigh heavily on my shoulders until tomorrow night.
>As if sensing my distress, she gives me a smug look.
>The opportunity for her to twist the proverbial knife turns out to be just too good to pass up.
>”Oh relax, Anon. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
>...
>Fuck.
>
>With the skinwalker’s pending request dancing in forefront of my mind, I need to find something to distract myself with.
>Anything I can do to keep myself busy over the next two days will be better than sitting around and waiting for the hammer to fall.
>It’ll take a few days for me to get back up to full strength, so any long range exploration is out. Whatever it is will have to be something nearby.
>Between the skirmish with the goblins and and all the fireballs their shamans were throwing, I doubt hunting will be very productive around here for weeks to come.
>That leaves one good option.
>We have a huge pile of guns, a duffle bag full of ammo, and a skinwalker who seemed very eager to learn more about them.
>This couldn’t possibly go wrong.
>Right?
>Let’s just hope the rest of the world is as ready for gun toting skinwalkers as I am.
>I look over at the fireplace, where Malorie is tending to the dwindling flames.
>She seems to have gotten better at it over the past few days, but I get the distinct impression it wasn’t something she had been doing much before I showed up.
>”Hey Mal, how do you feel about making some snowmen with me?”
>Her head whips around, eyes wide with shock.
>”You want to make what with me?!”
>”Uh... Snowmen?”
>Oh.
>Right.
>I suppose that would sound a little strange to someone who doesn’t know what a snowman is.
>”You’ll have to explain these ‘snow men’, I don’t understand. You want to make sculptures in the shape of men out of snow?”
>”Well, uh, they’re more like balls of snow stacked on top of one another, but yes.”
>She gives me a skeptical look, genuine curiosity burning in her eyes.
>”But what is their purpose? Why take the time to make such things?”
>I give her a sly smile.
>”We’re gonna need something to shoot, right?”
>It could just be a trick of the dim firelight, but I swear I see her toothy grin grow a little wider.
>Once I gear up, we head outside and begin constructing an army of snowmen. 
>Using my rangefinder, I make sure that we place them at various distances that are easily visible from the fallen tree near the mouth of the cave.
>The rangefinder itself seems to be an object of wonder to her, doing more harm than good to my insistence that my world had little or no magic prior to the convergence.
>After a couple hours, the skinwalker and I stand side by side, looking out at our new adversaries.
>Three snowmen stand next to one another just 25 yards away from us, with another one each at 50 and 100, followed by more at 200, 300 and 400 yards.
>Off to our side, two more snowmen stand ready at 7 and 15 yards, awaiting their death by pistol.
>Before us, spread out on the fallen log are an assortment of weapons we recovered from the goblins, along with my LWRC REPR and my 10/22.
>”We’ll start out with some .22 and then work our way up from there. Now let’s see what you remember from the other night. Load her up and aim at that middle guy 25 yards out.”
>Mal grabs the ruger .22, slides back the action, peeks inside, and then releases it, glancing up at me.
>I nod, and she clicks a magazine up and into it, shouldering the weapon and taking aim.
>”Your stance looks pretty good, but I’m gonna adjust you a bit, ok?” I ask, hesitant to touch her without making my intentions clear.
>”Go ahead, Anon. I won’t bite.”
>That predatory grin does nothing to reassure me, but I press on regardless.
>”This is very close range, but I want you to stand a little more bladed right now. We’re gonna get the basics down first before we move on to the high speed shit.”
>I gently take her by the shoulders, twisting her slightly to the left.
>”Good, now bring your elbow down underneath the rifle more, think of it as a vertical pillar...”
>I move around her, adjusting her stance until everything looks right. 
>”Ok, now chamber a round, and let’s see how you do.”
>The skinwalker reaches her left hand over the gun, drawing back the action and letting it snap back forward.
>I watch her breathe in and out, looking down the sights.
>Another breath in, followed by one out, and she squeezes the trigger, lurching forward a little bit.
>”Safety... and remember, pull that stock into your shoulder, don’t anticipate the recoil.”
>She gives a little chuckle, and I head the safety click off.
>I watch her inhale once more, followed by an exhal-
>CRACK
>A puff of snow kicks out the back of the middle snowman, and she lifts her head up from the stock, excitement clear as day burning in her eyes.
>”Oh! I hit it!”
>I smile, as the /k/ube gains another convert.
>”Perfect! Now do it again! Don’t rush, but focus and empty the mag. Try to keep your group as tight as you can.”
>The skinwalker nods, and then returns her attention to the target.
>CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
>She continues to pop off rounds with the .22, and we work through mag after mag, going through standing, kneeling, sitting, and prone.
>After that we work the sling into the mix, how to properly sling up and the different methods of using it to steady a shot.
>The snowmen are big targets at 25 yards, and she makes quick work of them, soaking up my instruction like a sponge.
>Sight picture, breath control, cheek weld, trigger pull, natural point of aim... I continue adding technique as she puts more rounds downrange.
>After a couple hundred rounds of .22lr, we begin working through the collection of guns we’ve assembled, two of the 25yd snowmen along with the one at 50yds collapsing after the barrage of different rounds.
>She seems to take a liking to one of the AKs - a Draco with a triangle folder stock, as well as the short barreled AR in .300blk.
>The suppressor on the latter of the two is particularly fascinating to her, and even though the rounds aren’t subsonic, it does a remarkable job quieting them down.
>I completely lose track of time while we spend the remainder of the morning and afternoon shooting, until daylight begins to fade and the setting sun throws long shadows through the snowy woods.
>”Ready to try some pistols?” I ask as I unbuckle my war belt and hold it out towards her.
>”I thought you’d never ask,” she grins.
>She turns her back toward me, lifting her arms up and peering over her shoulder to meet my gaze.
>“Go ahead,” she instructs, an indiscernible look in her eyes.
>I approach her from behind, wrapping the pistol belt around the curve of her hips, only to find that it’s just a bit too short to connect.
>As I begin to withdraw my hands to adjust the belt she grabs my wrists, pulling my arms forward around her waist before I’m able to react.
>The unexpectedness of it catches me off guard and I freeze like a deer in the headlights, motionless.
>Even through my coat, her body heat stands out in stark contrast to the frigid winter air. 
>She slowly drags my hands up higher around her narrow waist, pushing them together until the belt clasp clicks shut.
>The fabric between us does little to disguise the feel of her lean, muscular body as she presses back against me.
>”Thank you for this, Anon.”
>Her voice is quiet, a breathy contralto barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the moment that she’s stolen.
>I can feel the pin pricks of her sharp claws on my wrists while she presses my arms tightly around her waist, lingering for a second before she releases me from her grasp and breaks the embrace.
>By the time I fully process what’s happened, she’s already stepped forward towards the targets, one hand on the holstered pistol.
>I clear my throat and step over to stand next to her before I respond.
>”Malorie... It’s been my pleasure. This is what I love to do. I’ve enjoyed this a lot, and it’s been nice to get behind a gun on a one-way range for a change.”
>As I glance sideways at her, I can’t help but give her a half smile.
>”At the rate you’re going, we’ll make a rifleman out of you in no time. Now, let’s talk about pistols real quick before we start. Your sidearm is a backup weapon, convenient because it’s faster than a reload...”
>By the time we are finished shooting for the day, the sun is already well below the horizon.
>I’m able to placate the skinwalker with promises of doing some longer-range shooting tomorrow, and getting to combine all the individual skills we worked on today.
>Malorie and I pack the guns back inside as the temperature outside plummets and tiny white snowflakes begin to drift down, covering the world in a pale blanket.
>Call me lazy, but at this point I’m less concerned with cleaning the guns after a few hundred rounds, and more concerned with food and sleep.
>I can still feel a lingering weakness in my body from coming so close to death just scant days ago, my energy level not quite back to where it used to be.
>Once the weapons are stowed in the entryway, I busy myself with stoking the little fire and preparing another freeze dried meal from my dwindling stockpile while the skinwalker plays with my FNX-45 tactical, lounging in one of the wide stone chairs.
>”What will you do when you run out of those, I wonder?”
>I glance back at her, noticing the playful look in her eyes as she begins to reload the defensive ammo into the pistol magazines I had emptied for our target practice earlier.
>”I suppose I’ll have to do a little hunting. I’ve been looking forward to seeing what sort of game you have on this side. I saw a few deer the day after I came through the portal, but aside from the adults having their spots, they didn’t look any different from ours.”
>Mal tilts her head, a puzzled look in her eyes.
>”But you didn’t shoot one of them? With as often as you need to eat, I think that you would be hesitant to pass up a chance at meal.”
>”Well, that’s the thing. A deer and a meal are two different things. Sure, I can get a lot of meals out of even a small deer, but I need to skin it, quarter it, break it down, and then once I’ve got the meat whatever I don’t cook on the spot needs to be smoked or dried so it won’t spoil. It’s a pretty time consuming process.”
>The skinwalker finishes refilling the mags and slides one into the pistol, racking the slide and engaging the safety. 
>”Everything is so complex with you humans.”
>She proceeds to holster the suppressed FNX before unclipping the war belt, hanging it over the edge of the stonework chair.
>”What about you, Mal? I have barely seen you eat anything. This might sound stupid, but you do need to eat, right?” I inquire as I dig into my meal.
>”We do, yes, but it’s more about the life energy for my kind. Something large and sentient, like an elf or a couple goblins, is enough to sate me for a week or two. If I were to try and subsist off lesser species like what you would consider game, I would have to feed much more frequently. If nothing was available, I am much like you. I would begin to grow gaunt and thin, until I became consumed by hunger, willing to risk even going into a settlement to fill my urges.”
>Noticing the concerned look on my face, Mal gives me what I assume is supposed to be a reassuring grin.
>”You don’t need to fear that ever happening, Anon. I have had a long time to learn how to control my more... base desires.”
>At this, she stands up, arching her back in a luxurious stretch as she rises from her seat.
>Her primitive outfit which is little more than strips of dark cloth wound around her breasts, with more of the same below her waist, shows every curve of her body as she stretches.
>I find my eyes playing across her lithe form, watching her taut abdominal muscles while she lifts her arms above her head.
>My eyes rise upwards until I meet her pale gaze, burning like distant stars hanging in an empty void.
>Color starts to rise in my cheeks upon realizing that she had been watching me the whole time.
>A mischievous look in her eyes, she saunters over towards me with all the grace of a stalking panther.
>My heartbeat begins to accelerate, not knowing what to expect as she draws closer.
>The skinwalker passes within a hair’s breadth of me, reaching out a single claw-like nail to run gently across the back of my shoulders as she walks by.
>”Good night, Anon. I hope you sleep well, we have so much to do tomorrow.”
>With that, she strides off to her chamber, leaving me to exhale a deep breath I didn’t know I had been holding and wonder what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.
>
>”Contact front! One target, 400 yards!”
>POW
>“Miss. Low-left.”
>POW
>”Miss, low-left again. Take your time, and remember, don’t buck the recoil.”
>POW
>”Hit! Low-center, good! Now do it again!”
>POW
>”Hit! Low-center again. Come up one or two and really focus on the squeeze at your respiratory pause.”
>POW
>”Hit, dead center! Do it Again.”
>POW
>”Hit. Again.”
>POW
>”Hit, center again! Safe that and let’s go downrange to take a look at those last three. I think you’re gonna be pretty happy.”
>The skinwalker steals a glance at me as she rises up from her prone position, her predatory focus giving way to a smug grin.
>It’s been nearly two full days of shooting, and so far she’s taken to it like a fish to water. 
>There’s only so much you can really cover in just a few days, but she has a solid grasp of the fundamentals and has proved herself to be a fair student, too.
>Given a few weeks, and an unlimited supply of ammo, I am certain she could become a dangerous marksman in her own right.
>Unfortunately our dwindling ammo supply can only get us so far.
>I need to save at least a few hundred rounds of .308, and enough .22lr to keep a steady supply of small game, whenever I do end up moving on.
>”You make a good teacher, Anon.”
>Mal looks at me sideways as we crunch through the snow, towards what remains of our perforated snowmen.
>”Thanks. If all my students has been as focused as you, my life would have been a lot easier,” I reply.
>”I had been wondering if this was something that you had done before. Did others seek you out for this, back in your homeland?”
>Memories of endlessly walking up and down a dusty firing line come flooding back to me, and I can’t quite suppress a small smile.
>”Not exactly. I was a combat arms instructor for a while, which usually meant trying to teach marksmanship to a bunch of people who either didn’t want to be there or thought they knew better already.”
>”Why would they not want to learn? What would happen when it came time for them to fight?”
>”For most of them, they would probably never need to fight. Hell, I never fired a shot at anything more dangerous than a deer before I came through the portal.”
>Mal thinks silently for a moment, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.
>”Your homeland sounds so different... It feels as though the more I learn about humans, the less I understand them.”
>The skinwalker is silent for the remainder of our walk out to the target, seemingly lost in though until we near the furthest snowman.
>As we approach, her eyes widen and she grabs me by the arm, excitedly dragging me towards the target.
>There in the center of the snowman are three neat holes, close enough together that I can cover the grouping with the palm of my hand.
>She reaches out a clawed finger, gently running it around the edge of a bullet hole, before withdrawing her hand and glancing back at where we had been shooting from.
>”You have the makings of a fine shooter, Malorie. Feels pretty good when all the pieces come together, doesn’t it?”
>”It’s so much more satisfying than I ever would have imagined. I cannot wait to hunt with you, Anon,” She purrs, her husky tone smoldering with excitement.
>Something tells me she isn’t just talking about wild game.
>I swallow nervously as a thought strikes me.
>Maybe to her there’s no difference, and everything is simply game?
>Sometimes I am struck by how human she acts, but little moments like this keep popping up, illustrating how differently we must look at the world.
>”I’m sure you could teach me a thing or two about tracking and stalking. What do you say we get all the guns back inside and clean them up before it gets too late.”
>Mal gives me a look that could only be described as a the skinwalker equivalent of puppy-dog eyes.
>”We’ll shoot again before you continue your travels, right?”
>I give her a nod, finding it surprisingly hard to say no.
>For a supernatural killing machine, she can almost be kind of cute.
>”Don’t forget, we still have the matter of your debt to discuss tonight,” She leers, her toothy grin doing little to calm my nerves.
>I have a feeling I know where this is headed, and I still am not sure it’s something I am ready for.
>As it begins to darken outside and the temperature starts to slip, we pack up all the guns and bring everything inside to clean.
>It will probably be a while before we shoot some of these again, so we disassemble them as best we can with my multitool, sparingly using some of the oil I brought with me in a small cleaning kit.
>Our conversation stays mostly focused on the task at hand as we clean, and eventually we finish with the last of them as the fire starts to burn low.
>As I mate the upper and lower on my LWRC and set it aside, I can feel Mal’s eyes boring into me, watching like a hawk circling a hapless rabbit before it dives.
>I return to sit with her at the small stone table, steeling myself for what’s about to come.
>She crosses her legs and leans towards me in an oddly human gesture, leaning her elbows against the stone table.
>Her eyes are burning with a cold fire, like miniature suns hanging in the inky void of her skull.
>”Anon, I know I have had the past two days to consider what favor I might ask of you, but I have known what I wanted long before we ever had that talk,”
>My heart begins to quicken as she continues, and I find myself making a conscious effort to breath normally.
>”I’ve been alone here in this forest for far longer than I care to say. Meeting you has ignited something within me, a desire I didn’t know I had been holding. I know it may not be what you had in mind, but I ask that you do not deny me this.”
>I run a hand through my hair, before letting it fall to rest on the table in front of me while my mind races.
>“I gave you my word, Mal. I have never been one to go back on that.”
>The skinwalker reaches out, and I feel the needle points of her claw-like nails as she takes my hand in one of hers.
>”Anon, please,” Her dusky tone takes a pleading edge, causing my breath to catch in my throat.
>”When you leave this place, take me with you.”
>The remark takes a second to register.
>I had though...
>Oh.
>”I realized that I had been living here for so long, but barely know anything about the world beyond this forest. I want to travel, to see cities and new people, to explore the wonders of the world past the edge of these trees. Maybe even travel to your world someday... If you would have me with you, that is.”
>Her eyes search mine as she waits for an answer, two pale glowing orbs hanging on whatever answer I might give her.
>I have no idea how this is going to work, but it doesn’t matter.
>I find a lopsided smile creep across my face.
>”I would like that quite a bit, Malorie. Consider it done.”
>”Thank you,” She grins back at me.
>She leans towards me across the table, suddenly sly as she lowers her head to whisper in my ear.
>”I know what you thought I was going to ask, Anon. What fun would it be if I needed to coerce you with an oath?”
>I feel one of her claws trace a lazy line across my palm, causing a shiver to creep down my spine.
>”After all, we’ll have no shortage of time together now, and the nights can get so cold, out in the wild.”
>The skinwalker gives me a sultry chuckle as she gets up and retreats to her chamber, looking quite pleased with herself.
>I let out a resigned sigh before I make my way over to my own sleeping area, still not entirely sure what to make of her.
>/k/ube save me...
>I think.