>Now that we’re going to be traveling together, continuing to teach Mal to shoot is my top priority.
>The next few days pass in a blur of instruction, drills, and spent brass.
>She quickly decides that the suppressed AR-15 chambered in .300 blackout is her favorite, despite it’s fixed iron sights and lack of an optic.
>Knowing that we’ll likely be traveling for a while, I decide it’s in our best interest to expend nearly all the ammo that we’re not bringing with us.
>We set aside all of the ammo we have for her rifle, plus a few hundred rounds of .22lr and my considerable stash of 7.62x51.
>Just in case, we also tuck away 150 rounds of 7.62x39, enough to fill the five magazines we have for the draco.
>Before we leave, we’ll stash it with it’s ammo and mags in her dwelling.
>Who knows if or when we’ll be back, but it’s good to have a backup nonetheless.
>We burn through all of the remaining ammunition as I give the best carbine course I can with what we have left.
>I include a lot of movement drills and dry firing, both to prolong our limited training ammo and to keep building a good foundation for her shooting skills.
>When it comes to making a good shooter, everyone loves to run around squeezing off rounds but often neglect to continue practicing the fundamentals, and the more mundane aspects of shooting.
>By the time our supply finally runs out, I feel confident that she understands how to shoot, move, and communicate as part of a team, at least as well as I can teach it.
>After a few days of running around along side her, I feel like I’m back up to speed as well.
>With no more preparations to make, all that’s left for us to do is leave the following day.
>
>I awaken early the next morning to furtive noises coming from the other side of the room.
>Cracking open an eye, I can see that the fireplace is lit by the dull glow of last night’s embers, barely enough to illuminate the shadowy room.
>I can see Mal’s outline in the gloom, carrying an ALICE pack we scavenged from the goblins as well as her rifle.
>She creeps over to the far side of the room, setting them against the wall next to my own pack, rifle, and plate carrier before returning to her chambers.
>A moment later, she comes back with an old USGI load bearing vest I’ve never seen before and sets it next to the combined gear, her pile closely mirroring my own.
>I watch her silently, as she gazes at them a moment, noticing my clothes for the next day sitting on top of the pack where I’d left them last night.
>The skinwalker seems to consider her own primitive garments, comprised of strips of black cloth wrapped around her torso and waist, looking uncharacteristically self conscious.
>This seems to give her pause, and after several seconds she pads back to her chambers.
>I keep my eyes fixed on the hallway expectantly, waiting for her to re-emerge, but minutes tick by and I feel my eyelids growing heavy once again.
>After all, it must be extremely early, my watch’s alarm has yet to go off.
>Surely I would be fine resting my eyes for a moment while I wait for her to return.
>
>”-ke up, Anon,” 
>I feel Mal’s hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me awake.
>”Anon, I’d like to ask you for something,”
>I open my eyes and see Mal leaning over me, topless, one arm on my shoulder and the other squishing her breasts against her chest, barely preserving her modesty.
>While I wouldn’t call them huge, they’re noticeably larger than I thought they were, her former cloth wrappings must have done a great job compressing them.
>My eyes widen with shock, and I begin to protest but she silences me with a finger pressed across my lips.
>”Oh come now, no need to be prude. Besides, that’s what I wanted to ask you about.”
>I raise an eyebrow in question, doing my best to pretend that being woken up by a half-naked skinwalker isn’t anything out of the ordinary.
>It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes fixed on hers, a fact that seems to delight her as she shifts to sit down next to me, her finger still pressed against my lips.
>”When you were shot with that arrow, you were wearing a black shirt with short sleeves underneath all your other clothing,”
>As she explains, she begins to gently drag the tip of her claw down my lips and below my jawline, hooking the edge of the blanket as it makes it’s way down my chest.
>”I sliced the bottom of it open to dress your wound while you were unconscious, remember?”
>Her claw reaches the spot in question, lazily tracing the small scar there.
>I nod my head, trying to stay focused on her questions and not her teasing advances.
>”You wouldn’t have need of it anymore, would you?”
>She continues to run the tips of her nail-like claws up and down the sensitive flesh of my side, an amused glint in her eyes.
>I clear my throat, trying to stay focused and keep my voice steady.
>”Uh, I dunno if you want that one, I cut a strip off the bottom where the torn part was when we cleaned the guns the last time.”
>”Oh, that’s fine Anon, I hardly need it to stay warm. The cold doesn’t really bother me at all.”
>She withdrawals her hand, standing up to walk over to my pack, but stops halfway to glance playfully back over her shoulder at me.
>”Shall I get it from your pack, or do you want to get up and do it?”
>”No, you can get it, it’s right there in that outer pocket,” I respond, thankful for the blanket covering me below the waist.
>”I’ll get up in a minute or two, once I, uh, finish waking up.”
>The skinwalker merely grabs the T-shirt in question, now more of a crop-top than anything, and slips it on with her back still turned to me.
>It’s only at this point that I notice she’s wearing a pair of m81 woodland BDU pants on the bottom, a match to the chest rig she has with her pack.
>She even repurposed some of the black cloth wraps to emulate the gaiters I have been wearing when we went out into the deep snow.
>”Mal, if you don’t mind me asking... You said I was the first human you’ve met, but you have an awful lot of gear laying around from my homeworld.”
>Now properly dressed, she reaches down and grabs the LBV, clipping it together and completing her outfit.
>”You’re not the first human from your side I’ve ever seen, Anon. You just happen to be the first living one. How do I look?”
>I hold back a snarky comment about women all being suckers for a new outfit, and grin back at her.
>”Stunning.”
>It does look pretty good. I have no idea what kind of reaction she’s gonna get walking into a town, but I imagine that having proper clothing will help.
>For that matter, I don’t know how a village will react to me either. 
>Those questions will have to wait until we get out of the wilderness, a task I’m excited to begin.
>I slide out of the bed and begin to dress and gear up, almost as eager as my companion to resume my journey into this strange land.
>
>We exit the cave together, stepping out into the crisp winter air.
>Shafts of sunlight pierce through the trees, gilding the icy branches with a golden glow.
>A few errant squirrels chatter at us as we make our way back to the trail I had originally been traveling on.
>Mal glides along effortlessly beside me, eerily silent as we work our way past the now snow-covered remnants of the battle with the goblins.
>As we pass near the area where I had set up my ambush, I notice something is off, and walk over to investigate.
>Strange tracks unlike anything I’ve ever seen wind their way out of the woods and across the path, stopping where the deceased goblins lay buried underneath the snow.
>Where I expected to find small mounds of snow covering the fallen warriors, however, empty holes dug into the snow and ice gape back at me.
>The tracks themselves look as if a pair of giant, misshapen hands were dragging a massive legless body through the snow, leaving tiny bits of frozen blood and bone in it’s wake.
>I look at the disturbed grave sites and the horrific prints left behind, trying to make sense of what happened here.
>Mal’s voice behind me snaps me back to reality.
>”You didn’t think I was the only thing lurking out here in the wilds, did you?”
>I turn around to look at her, eyes wide with shock as she continues.
>”I’m far from the worst thing you could have found. In fact, I like to think you’re rather lucky. Now let’s continue, these tracks are probably from last night but I’d rather not linger here regardless,”
>Her tone is more playful than anything, but I can’t help but notice an underlying urgency to it that sets me on edge.
>”What were those tracks back there? And what did it do with the bodies of those goblins?” I ask her while we continue trekking through the frozen woods.
>The skinwalker pauses for a moment, shifting the AR slung over her shoulder before answering me.
>”It’s called an exhumer. They’re undead monstrosities that like to scavenge old battle sites and feast on corpses of the fallen.”
>She glances over at me, fidgeting with the straps on her LBV as she continues.
>”The more they eat, the larger they grow, adding the dead flesh and bone to their own mass almost as if they were alive. Once they get large enough, they tend to stop discriminating and go for whatever kind of bodies they can find, living or dead.”
>”Let me guess, that one was big enough to go after live prey?”
>”Oh yes, judging by the tracks that’s easily the largest one I’ve seen.”
>”Wonderful. Can we kill it?”
>Mal laughs softly, and cocks her head.
>”You tell me Anon, do rifles work on undead?”
>...
>Shit.
>I never really considered it before, maybe I should have brought a better melee weapon just in case.
>”I’ve never actually seen one, much less tried shooting at it. I have no idea.”
>”Well, what about back on your world? Surely you must know someone who’s done it.”
>”We, uh, don’t really have undead. No magic, remember?”
>The skinwalker stops and looks at me with a blank stare.
>”Anon, if you keep that up I may just start to believe you. A fireball would make quick work of an abomination like an exhumer though,”
>She gives me a toothy grin, a sly expression in her eyes.
>”You’re not starting to regret killing those goblin shamans with me, are you?”
>“Nope,” I grin right back at her.
>She opens her mouth slightly to respond, but the pop of distant gunfire at our three o’clock ends our conversation prematurely.
>We drop down, Mal looking to me with her head cocked, listening intently, but I wave to her to “hold”.
>Another barrage of shots ring out in the distance, and then silence follows.
>The gunshots sounded far enough away so as not to pose an immediate threat, but it’s clear enough that we’re not the only ones armed with rifles wandering around in the forest.
>”I’d rather avoid a gunfight today, if we can help it. Let’s keep moving, and maybe if we’re lucky that was the sound of someone shooting the exhumer,” I murmur.
>Something about that elicits a soft chuckle from Mal as we stand up and continue trudging through the snow.
>”Luck has never really favored me, Anon. I wouldn’t count on it.”
>Part of me wants to ask exactly what she means, but she’s been pretty reluctant to share her past with me so far so I decide not to push the issue.
>Instead, I throw her a half smile.
>”I dunno, I tend to be pretty lucky myself. Maybe I have enough for the both of us.”
>We lapse into a comfortable silence as we hike through the icy forest, staying alert but otherwise enjoying the tranquility of the vast forest.
>Dusk begins to set in, and we locate a decent spot for a campsite in a little dell a few hundred yards off the trail.
>Part of me wonders if it wouldn’t be wiser to cold camp for the night, but with as low as the temperatures get here I’m not sure that’s even an option.
>The skinwalker seems to sense my hesitation after we drop our packs and clear some of the snow away.
>”I believe it’s safe if you wanted to build a fire, Anon. You seem just as susceptible to the cold as any elf or dwarf, as best as I can tell.”
>”I’d say that’s probably accurate. Does the cold not bother you?”
>Mal gives her head a little shake in response.
>”Cold temperatures aren’t really problem for my kind, but I will admit I’ve grown used to having a fire since we met. It’s a pleasant way to relax, sitting together in front of a fire.”
>After fishing around in my pack for a moment I find my folding saw, and then re-sling my rifle over my shoulder.
>”I’m pretty sure I saw a dead birch back towards the trail,” I tell her as I start heading that way.
>I locate the tree in question, maybe 8 inches in diameter and thankfully not so rotted as to be poor firewood.
>The little saw makes it much easier to process into manageable size pieces, and I silently thank the /k/ube that they even have birch trees on this side.
>With as cold and icy as it’s been, I had been worried about getting a fire going, but a little birch bark solves that problem.
>After I’m certain that we have enough to keep the fire going through the night, I begin carting back wood by the armload.
>It looks like Mal busied herself by setting up out campsite while I was gone, her own bedroll set up in between mine and the base of a giant oak, it’s gnarled roots spreading out like enveloping arms.
>Not too far away, on the other side of my sleeping pad and bivvi, she’s dug out a small depression for the fire. 
>I’ll be honest, it looks pretty cozy. 
>Between the two of us we haul the rest of the wood back quickly, and I start a small campfire while darkness slowly swallows the forest around us.
>As I finish up an MRE for dinner (pork sausage, maple flavor - a true unsung hero) I watch Malorie withdraw a well-worn leather bound tome from her pack.
>She sits down on her bedroll and leans back against the huge tree, setting the book on her lap and cracking it open.
>Part of me is amazed that she’d want to dedicate the space in her pack to such a large, heavy object.
>It’s not like she can carry around extra food, though, so what else would she need to bring?
>I wonder what she’d think of the kindle I have in my pack.
>It’d probably blow her mind.
>Her eyes suddenly flick up to meet mine, and I realize that I’ve been standing there wide-eyed.
>”I don’t need nearly as much sleep as you humans seem to, so I’ll do some reading and keep watch while you rest.”
>”Ok, but let me know if you change your mind and wanna rest for a while,” I tell her as I sit down next to her and begin to strip off my gear and outer layer.
>The cold night air sends a shiver through me as I climb into my sleeping bag.
>Once I zip myself in, I turn on my side towards her, trying to make out the title written in faded letters on the cover of her book.
>”Curious, Anon? It’s a copy of Morrisey’s ‘Journey Through The North’. He was a famous explorer many years ago who wrote several volumes on his travels.”
>While she speaks, she carefully leafs through the pages with a clawed finger, apparently searching for something.
 >”I used to imagine myself following in his footsteps, leaving this place and seeing the world.”
>I notice an almost nostalgic tone to her voice, but before I can say anything she reverses the book, holding it open towards me.
>”He even included some maps, see? We are somewhere in here,”
>A hand-drawn map covers both pages, and I get the impression that it spans a vast expanse despite there being no scale.
>One of her claws points to a heavily forested area below a large mountain range, where “The Pale Hills” has been written amongst the sprawl of trees.
>A river winds it’s way through the forest, and my eyes follow it up to it’s origin in the mountains to the north, a small circular lake.
>What catches my attention is a dot placed along the shore of the lake, simply labeled “Taer Nelor”.
>Some sort of city perhaps?
>If so, it’s awfully remote and doesn’t seem to be connected to any roads or trails.
>Still, it’s the closest settlement to us by far, the only other sign of civilization on this particular map is a road cutting across the southwest, roughly the direction we’ve been heading.
>”Huh, I didn’t expect us to be so close to civilization,” 
>The skinwalker flips the book back around, giving a barely perceptible sigh.
>“We’re not. Taer Nelor was an elvish citadel where they taught magic, but it’s nothing more than ruins now. If you would like, I could show you more in the morning.”
>I get the impression that there’s more to the story than she’s letting on, but I decide not to press her on it now.
>”I would like that. Don’t be afraid to wake me up if you hear anything, ok?”
>”No need to worry, Anon. I will.”
>Mal pauses for a second, and gives me a look that could only be described as predatory.
>”Anon? Don’t be afraid to come a little closer if you get too cold...”
>It honestly sounds pretty nice, but I’ve come to enjoy our banter too much to give in that easily.
>”I would love to, but I just don’t know how restful that would be for either of us,”
>I give her a little smirk as I lay my head down to sleep.
>”After all, I tend to toss and turn a bit, especially if I get too warm in the middle of the night.”
>This earns me a sultry chuckle from the skinwalker as she returns to her book.
>”Sleep well, Anon.”
>
>I jolt awake, a faint feeling of dread ghosting through me like an echo.
>The forest around me is deathly silent, and when I open my eyes I immediately see that the fire has burned down to smoldering coals.
>I lay still for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the faint gloom, trying to discern the cause of my unease.
>Perhaps it’s just my imagination, or the remnants of some misremembered dream?
>No, no matter what I tell myself, I can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong.
>I roll over to look at Mal and find her sitting motionless with her book face-down, head cocked to the side, listening.
>Her pale eyes flick over to meet mine, and slowly she raises a single clawed finger as if to say “Wait,”.
>We sit in silence for a few more silent moments, and just when I’m about to ask what she heard, the sharp crack of a branch being snapped breaks the oppressive silence.
>The skinwalker is up on her feet almost immediately, peeking around behind the base of the big tree toward the origin of the sound.
>From my position, I can’t see whatever she’s looking at, but I notice her eyes widen, each looking like a pale moon hanging in an inky void.
>Is that fear?
>From Mal?
>She slowly leans back toward the center of the thick tree, and then frantically waves for me to join her.
>As quietly as I can, I slide out of my sleeping bag into the frigid night air, slipping my feet into my unlaced boots and then stepping over to join her.
>Without a word, she points up to one of the lower branches, several feet above us, then interlocks her hands, holding them out towards me.
>”Trust me, please,” She whispers pleadingly.
>Now more alarmed by her reaction than anything else, I quickly brace one hand against the massive tree and put a foot into her interwoven hands, pushing myself upward as she lifts up with surprising strength.
>I catch the branch, pull myself up, and then look back down to see her already lifting both rifles up towards me.
>I grab one in each hand, and before I get them pulled up Mal is scrabbling up the tree with the help of her claws.
>She works her way up until she’s standing on a branch just higher than my head, turning to reach towards me for the guns and motioning for me to join her.
>After passing her both rifles I pull myself up once again and give the skinwalker a questioning look.
>Without a word she thrust my heavy .308 into my arms and then slings her own AR across her back, crouching low on the branch to peer down to our little campsite twenty feet below.
>I decide to stay closer to where our branch joins the giant tree trunk, still feeling as if a warning is going off in the back of my head, telling me some unknown threat is near.
>Mal’s ears twitch, and slowly I watch her turn her head to focus on something.
>Several seconds later, I become aware of a strange scraping sound heading towards our campsite.
>When the mysterious creature finally lurches into view, the shock of it is enough to freeze the breath in my throat, adrenaline telling me I need to flee.
>What looks like a twisted amalgamation of undead flesh and bone drags itself closer to the fire, head bent low to the ground as it paws through our campsite.
>I can clearly see it only has two limbs jutting from its broad torso, each ending in a frighteningly human-looking hand, fingers worn to the bone and dangerously sharp looking.
>It’s torso terminates in an unfinished-looking end, vertebrae and rotting musculature visibly extending out to drag along behind it on the ground.
>The monstrosity turns to examine our packs near the base of the tree, and it’s massive head strikes me as being similar to a crocodile or alligator - a long toothy snout topped by beady, hollow eye sockets.
>As it sniffs around our gear, I realize that it’s head alone is larger than both of our packs combined.
>/k/ube help us, this creature must be pushing a thousand pounds or more in weight. 
>Thankfully it doesn’t seem particularly intelligent.
>I begin to raise my rifle, but doubt stops me.
>We each have a single magazine, the rest of our supplies are down at the base of the tree.
>What if our firepower isn’t enough? 
>Would our rounds be able to kill it, or even hurt it?
>I glance at Mal, who notices and shakes her head slowly.
>This doesn’t seem like the best time to figure out if undead are resistant to bullets.
>Silently I hang the rifle’s sling from a protruding branch, and huddle down to try to keep warm.
>Time drags on, and it leaves the campsite only to return a few minutes later, clearly in no hurry.
>Mentally I kick myself for not grabbing my outer layer of clothes.
>Although it’s not windy, I’m wearing nothing but under armor and a fleece hoodie.
>The worst part is being only twenty feet away from my coat and pants, folded neatly on top of my pack, right next to my plate carrier and pistol belt.
>The creature doesn’t seem to know that we’re up in the tree, but it must realize that campsites are never unattended for long.
>I creep over to Mal, addressing the skinwalker in a hushed tone.
>”Either we try our luck shooting this thing, or I’m gonna have to sneak down and get my clothes. It’s too cold for me to stay up here much longer, and dawn is hours away,”
>She reaches out a clawed hand and grips my arm, as if she’s afraid I’ll leap down on top of the thing.
>”Anon, you can’t. That exhumer isn’t going to leave until just before dawn, when it will likely crawl back into whatever hole it passes the day in. They’re not very intelligent, but make no mistake, they’re relentless and cunning creatures.”
>The skinwalker’s grip on my arm tightens, her claws like tiny pinpricks through my sleeve.
>”I have to do something. I’m not gonna just sit up here and freeze to death while we wait,”
>Without breaking her hold on my arm, Mal maneuvers around behind me, half dragging me backwards to where the stout branch joins the base of the tree.
>Firmly, she pulls us both down into a sitting position, with her back resting against the trunk and me leaning backwards against her chest.
>I start to object, but I can already feel her warmth radiating into me from behind.
>I try to ignore the fact that I can feel her breasts pressing against my back, a sensation only heightened when she wraps her ams around my waist and pulls me tightly against her.
>”Better now?”
>Her husky whisper seems to reverberate through me, causing my heart to skip a beat.
>”Yeah...”
>We lapse into silence as we watch the exhumer drag itself around the camp, pawing at our bedrolls and eventually wandering off into the darkness.
>Just when I think it must be gone, however, I hear a branch break no more than twenty or thirty yards from our camp.
>I sigh and glance at my watch, astonished that it’s only 0116 in the morning.
>”Mal, how much long-“
>”Hush.”
>As if to pacify me, the skinwalker pulls me a little tighter against her chest, gently resting her head on my shoulder.
>Her rhythmic breathing is slow and steady behind me, and despite the unnerving circumstances, exhaustion finally takes me.
>
>Slowly, I become aware of the sound of birds chirping.
>Why do they always have to be so loud, so early?
>For a few seconds, I wonder why I fell asleep sitting up, before memories of last night come flooding back to me.
>My eyes snap open, and a wave of vertigo hits me as I realize I’m sitting on a wide tree branch, twenty feet up in the air.
>I immediately tense up and my initial reaction to grab onto the wide branch below me, but I find my hands otherwise occupied.
>The skinwalker’s arms still encircle my waist, and my hands are draped over her own, fingers intertwined together.
>”Relax, Anon. I wouldn’t let you fall,” Mal chuckles from behind me.
>She disengages her hands from mine and pulls her arms back to stretch, breaking our embrace.
>I realize that a part of me is disappointed at this, but I quash those thoughts and focus on the immediate situation instead.
>”The exhumer?” 
>I inquire as I slide forward on the tree branch and stretch a little myself.
>”It left before first light. I believe they prefer to indulge themselves nocturnally, as do most predators here,”
>A glance back at her amused expression leaves little doubt in my mind she’s referring more to herself.
>”Well, uh, thanks for last night.”
>Feeling unusually self conscious, I wiggle my toes around inside my boots and try to ignore the pins and needles assaulting my legs as I shift around.
>I fully expect some clever quip or innuendo, but instead I simply receive an inscrutable look as she pauses a second.
>”You don’t have to thank me, Anon,” she replies in a quiet tone.
>Unsure what to make of her strange behavior, I focus on trying to rub the feeling back into my legs.
>It’s a miracle I was even able to sleep at all in the first place.
>Stupid tree.
>Eventually I clamber down out of our perch, only for the skinwalker to leap down beside me like some sort of panther ambushing it’s prey.
>”Showoff,” I grin, rolling my eyes.
>She leers back at me, seemingly back to her old self now.
>Kneeling, I begin stuffing my sleeping bag and bivvi back into their compression sack.
>”Let’s get packed up and really cover some ground today. I’ll eat cold while we hike.”
>”That sounds perfect, Anon. The more space we can put between us and the exhumer, the better off we’ll be come nightfall.”
>The two of us quickly finish breaking camp and resume our trek, the miles melting by as we walk together, occasionally chatting, but mostly just enjoying the austerity of the wilderness around us.
>As evening approaches, we work ourselves into a dense thicket of wrist-width trees, spaced so closely together that anything larger than a human would have a very difficult time closing the distance to us.
>We spend the night on edge, but this time nothing disturbs our rest.
>The next three days blur together uneventfully, not that I complain.
>We manage to put a considerable distance between us and our encounter with the exhumer, and I finally find myself starting to relax again at night.
>Aside from some older, human-looking tracks along the path we’re following, it seems as if we’re once again just two travelers in a vast, snowy landscape.
>
>Late afternoon finds us pausing for a break between several large boulders, huge eight foot rocks seemingly strewn about in a rough circle shape.
>I take a long draw of water from my canteen, trying to decide whether the stones were natural or had been moved ages ago, when I catch one of Mal’s ears twitch out of the corner of my eye.
>Sure enough, seconds later I can hear something crashing through the trees, moving quickly.
>We share a glance and I unsling my LWRC REPR, the skinwalker doing the same with her smaller AR. 
>The crashing grows closer, and after a few more seconds that feel like miniature eternities, I spot movement not 50 yards away through some thick pines.
>A doe, or at least what looks like a doe with a pattern of white vertical stripes across it’s sides, is trotting quickly through the snow.
>”Fresh meal tonight?” Mal’s velvety whisper inquires beside me.
>I nod, starting to raise my rifle, but a clawed hand gently pushes the barrel back down.
>”Let me. It will be much quieter, and I could use the energy.”
>I nod to my companion and quietly shoulder my rifle.
>”I’ll get a fire going and make camp, you better get it before she gets too far away,” I whisper.
>The skinwalker rolls her eyes, dropping her pack and slinging her rifle across her back.
>As soon as the doe is out of sight, she sets off after it, startlingly quiet for as fast as she moves.
>Her long, loping strides carry her out of sight in her pursuit of the deer, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I begin clearing out a place for a fire and gathering some wood.
>I haven’t truly seen her feed on anything since the goblin she killed the first night we met, and I lately I have been starting to worry.
>Even though she said that killing something sentient like that could sustain her for a while, that was weeks ago.
>I can’t help but notice that she looks a little more gaunt lately, a slight leanness to her appearance adding to my worry.
>How long can the lifeforce from a deer sustain her? 
>I haven’t a clue, but it’ll certainly be better than nothing.
>By the time I have a big enough pile of firewood to get us through the night, the late afternoon sun has started to dip, bathing the frozen woodlands in pinkish-purple hues.
>I glance down at my watch, and note that Mal’s been gone for about an hour.
>As I’m unpacking our sleeping gear, my stomach growls angrily.
>She must have the deer by now and be on her way back, right?
>The thought of some fresh venison cooked over an open fire practically has me salivating at this point.
>To distract myself a little, I fish around in my pack for my flint and steel.
>Despite the fact that I normally struggle with it, I’m able to get a spark to take hold in the tinder I prepared almost immediately.
>Smiling to myself, I blow air into the tinder bundle, watching as cracking flames erupt out of the smoking bark shavings.
>A pleasant smoky smell fills the air around me as the flames envelope the smaller twigs, and I hear Mal returning behind me as I adjust some of the bigger pieces of wood for better airflow.
>Something about her footsteps sounds strange, though…
>Be it some sort of magic or just plain skill, Mal is usually pretty quiet, even in the heavy snow.
>Right as I’m about to turn around and look, I hear another crunch from behind one of the large boulders across from me.
>My blood turns to ice as I realize too late what’s happening, and my hand flies down to my pistol, yanking it free as I spin around.
>There’s a man not 20 yards away clad head to toe in some sort of mossy oak camouflage, balaclava and all, with a tactical looking shotgun pointed directly at me.
>”Whoa there partner, no need to be so jumpy!” An unfamiliar voice calls out from my side, causing me to stop my trigger pull mid-squeeze.
>Turning to face the new threat, I see a middle-aged man wearing a similar camo outfit, his AR tucked under one arm, muzzle aimed towards my chest.
>FUCK.
>”How about you give that pistol to my friend here and we can have a little talk, sound good?”
>The hunter with the AR nods his head to the side, and I see that there’s a third one of them advancing into the clearing, a young looking 20-something with a pistol in hand and some sort of scoped rifle slung over his back.
>”How about you drop yours first,” I reply, earning me a chuckle from both the middle aged man and the one wearing the balaclava.
>”I hate to say it but I don’t think you’re the one calling the shots right now. That’s a fine looking silencer you got on that thing. How about you just give it to Nick over there and let him hold onto it for a bit?”
>The man motions toward the younger looking hunter with his AR.
>”Nick, get up there and grab that pistol, let’s go!”
>By now I’m starting to get a sinking feeling in my stomach.
>I’m pretty sure the second I give my pistol up, I’m going to be the one eating a bullet from it.
>Slowly, I back myself up against one of the massive boulders, keeping my pistol pointed at the talkative one who seems to be their leader.
>”Why the fuck would I trust you, trying to sneak right into the middle of my camp at dusk?”
>At this point I’m barely paying attention to what I’m saying, trying desperately to buy some time and think of something, anything that could get me out of this mess.
>”Heh, if we were gonna kill you, don’t you think we would have shot you while you were making that fire?”
>The middle aged man glances over at my pack, leaned up right next to Mal’s against one of the adjacent stones.
>”You already know I’m not here alone. Why would you risk the noise of a gunshot and set yourselves up to be counterattacked when you could get in close, take me out, and then be ready for the other people I’m traveling with?”
>A cold smile creeps across the man’s face as he listens to me, all but confirming my suspicions.
>”You mean the other person you’re traveling with, not people. Nice try, but only one set of tracks leading away from here.”
>Damnit.
>So much for bluffing.
>”Come on Nick, I need you to take his pistol, he ain’t goin’ anywhere so he’ll let you. Right buddy?” The man grins.
>His younger partner is nervously coming closer, his own pistol pointed at me in a not-so-steady hand.
>I glance between the two of them while their partner in the balaclava appears to be inspecting Mal’s tracks out of the camp, off to my left.
>Perhaps a slight resemblance…
>Fuck it, time to take a chance.
>”THAT’S ENOUGH!” I shout as I pivot towards the one named Nick, my front sight aimed directly between his eyes.
>”IF ANY OF YOU SO MUCH AS TWITCH I WILL PUT A HOLE THROUGH HIS FUCKING HEAD BEFORE I DIE, /K/UBE HELP ME!”
>The sudden outburst takes them off guard, and stops Nick’s advance towards me dead in his tracks.
>I glance towards the middle-aged man, and see his rifle is now shouldered at me, but his eyes dart quickly between Nick and I.
>”Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there! Just put the gun down or I’m gonna have to shoot you, come on now buddy,” He says in urgent tones.
>By now the last glow from the sun has sunk with it below the horizon, leaving us in near-darkness.
>”Hey boss? I think you should come have a look at these tracks…”
>The glow from my campfire illuminates our confrontation in a flickering orange glow, as the balaclava-wearing hunter uses the light on his shotgun to better look at the tracks left behind by the skinwalker.
>”Oh my god,” The middle-aged man mutters under his breath while he aims down his AR at me.
>”Can’t you see we’re a little bit busy here! Come over and give us a hand with this guy will you!”
>I take a step outward from the boulder at my back, putting me directly between Nick and the middle-aged hunter.
>Hopefully they’re smart enough to be worried about pass-throughs and it’ll cause them to hesitate.
>Either way, it’ll let me make use of both my plates.
>”You better tell him to stay the fuck out there,” I warn the middle-aged man.
>”Boss, this is fucked, will you PLEASE come take a look?” The balaclava-wearing hunter says, uncertainty creeping into his voice.
>”Oh for fuck’s sake,” curses the middle-aged hunter.
>”You can still walk away, you know. You don’t have to die here,” I say to Nick, trying to sound like I’m in control.
>”Come on man, can’t you just give me the gun?” He pleads.
>It takes all my willpower not to react when I catch something to my left, just on the edge of my peripheral vision.
>Two luminous eyes, barely visible in the gloom, silently circling around the campsite from where the balaclava-wearing hunter had been just seconds ago.
>Mal.
>I keep my eyes fixed on Nick, watching her get closer and closer behind him, flowing silently through the frozen trees like a shadow given flesh.
>”Carl, quit fucking with the tracks and get your ass up here NOW!” The middle-aged hunter shouts.
>Shit.
>”Carl? Oh fuck!”
>Sensing that I’m out of time, I pivot back around to the older hunter, my FNX’s front sight aligning with his chest even as he’s moving.
>As if in slow motion, I watch his headlamp start to swing back towards me, away from the bloody wreck off in the woods that was the balaclava-wearing hunter.
>He’s just beginning to pull his AR back up into his shoulder as I squeeze off my first round, the bullet impacting his rifle in a spray of sparks and metal.
>I follow it up with a second round to his center of mass, and then a third right behind it, both of which hit home.
>I’m about to fire my fourth when something hits me hard from behind, unexpectedly knocking me off balance and down into the snow.
>The impact takes me by surprise, snow filling my vision, and it takes me several seconds to regain my bearings.
>I manage to roll halfway over, spitting out snow and ice, when the skinwalker reaches my side.
>”Anon! Oh, please no!”
>Mal’s huge, pale eyes stare down at me while she pulls me upright, practically dragging me back onto my feet and spinning me around, checking for a bullet wound.
>”It’s ok, I’m ok,” I say while trying to wipe snow from my face.
>”I think my plate caught it,”
>Mal looks less than amused, however.
>”Stop moving around and let me make sure you aren’t hurt.”
>I endure her scrutiny until she’s satisfied that there’s only one small bullet hole in the back of my plate carrier.
>”The other two, you’re sure they’re dead?”
>For once, her ever-present grin seems to be devoid of playfulness.
>”Yes. When I came back and saw what was happening, I was so mad for letting my guard down… I killed the man with the shotgun as soon as he gave me the chance, and I would have killed the younger one before you shot the older man, if he hadn’t noticed what was happening first. I’m just glad you saw me come back and knew what I was going to do.”
>I give the skinwalker a little smile and a shrug.
>”I guess it just made sense. Let’s get these bodies out of here and try to enjoy our fire, I have a feeling it’s going to be our last one for a while.”
>Mal’s head tilts to the side while she considers something for a moment, seemingly wanting to choose her words carefully.
>”I brought that deer back for us, but would it bother you if I had something more nourishing to me?”
>At first I don’t entirely understand, but she glances over at the body of the hunter she just killed, his torn throat still leaking blood into the snow.
>She must have been on him right after he fired his first shot, it looked like his head was barely even attached anymore.
>Some part of me had feared this moment, dreading what it would be like when I had to kill another human.
>For whatever reason, though, I seemed to feel just fine.
>And if Mal could get some much-needed life energy out of this guy who would certainly have killed me if given the chance?
>It didn’t bother me in the slightest.
>”No, go ahead. I don’t feel any special kinship or anything just because they were human too. They weren’t too discreet about wanting to kill me quietly and then ambush you.”
>The skinwalker seems noticeably relieved, and kneels down next to the body, lowering her head to the gaping hole in it’s neck.
>Images of the first time I saw her flash through my mind, and I can’t help but ask myself: had I known where this path would lead me, would I have played my cards the same way that night?
>As I consider the strange friendship we seem to have found in one another, my answer is undoubtedly yes. 
>I don’t think I’d change it if I could.
>I take a glance around the camp while the skinwalker feeds, and decide to drag the other bodies out further away from us, lest the exhumer come back.
>They have surprisingly little of value on them, and I end up taking nothing more than a few spare batteries and what look to be some homemade packages of non-perishable food.
>The shotgun that the balaclava wearing hunter carried looks halfway decent, but with only 14 shells, it doesn’t seem worth the weight.
>I do end up stripping the light off of it, a Streamlight Protac with a built-in rail mount. 
>Mal meets me with the third body in tow just as I finally get the other two disposed of, dumped down a small ravine a few hundred yards from the camp.
>It’s hard to tell under the dim light of my headlamp, but it seems as though she already looks better.
>The change is subtle, but she seems less gaunt, more vibrant and full of energy.
>”Anon, come look at what I found,” She says excitedly as she tosses the third corpse into the ravine.
>”He had almost nothing in his pack, and his scope on his rifle was broken, but come look at this pistol. He even had an extra box of ammunition for it!”
>We make our way back to the camp, and the skinwalker shows me the pistol belt that Nick had been wearing.
>It has a decent looking holster, two extra magazines, and a pistol that turns out to be an HK USP in 9mm.
>I raise my eyebrows at the seemingly high end pistol amongst all the other cheap gear, but I’m not one to question our good luck.
>”Do you want to use it? Those are pretty well regarded back on my side of the portal, you know. And had you not gotten to him in time, it probably would have been the gun that killed me.”
>The skinwalker looks at me for a moment before replying, her husky voice unusually quiet.
>”I’m not going to let that happen again, Anon. Are you sure you don’t want it?”
>”Mal, you earned it. And… Thank you,” I smile at her as she clips on the pistol belt.
>With the campsite cleaned up, I set to work breaking down and quartering the deer she took earlier, taking the tenderloins and suspending them on some sticks to cook over the fire.
>The rest of the meat we can freeze, but I get a feeling that the organs won’t keep as well so I add the heart and liver to cook over the open flames.
>The scent of fresh venison fills the campsite, and as we sit beside the fire together, tiny white snowflakes begin to drift down through the forest.
>A thought strikes me, and I rummage around in my pack before producing my flask.
>Narrowly escaping death seems like a fair cause for celebration, right?
>Mal’s head cocks to the side as I offer it to her.
>”Fancy a drink?”
>Cautiously, she accepts, unscrewing the top and gingerly sniffing the contents.
>At first she recoils, her eyes flicking quickly back up as if she expected me to be playing some sort of joke on her.
>I merely watch expectantly.
>I’m genuinely curious to see what she’ll think of John Jameson’s blessed concoction.
>I would never say it out loud, but seeing her so uncharacteristically hesitant is actually kind of cute.
>After a couple seconds she tilts back her head, opening her mouth and pouring down a generous shot.
>Her eyes widen as soon as she swallows, and she quickly leans over to hand me back the flask while trying to suppress a cough.
>”Anon, what IS that? is that what people drink where you are from?!”
>I grin and take a drink myself, feeling the pleasant burn as it makes it’s way down my throat.
>”That is Irish Whiskey. And only sometimes, we drink things like beer and wine too.”
>”I have had wine, but that is unlike anything I have ever tried. It must be strong, because I can feel the warmth of it already.”
>As we await the venison to finish cooking, Mal sits down in front of the fire with me on a nearby log.
>”…May I have another drink?”
>
>Mal and I end up finishing the small flask together, a pleasant looseness settling in over me that seems to have affected her too.
>For an hour or two, we feed the small campfire, content to banter back and forth without talking about anything in particular.
>After a lull in our conversation, a thought pops into my head.
>”What were those three hunters even doing out here?” I blurt out.
>”They had had minimal supplies, their weapons were mostly junk, and they didn’t even have a real radio between them.”
>This last remark elicits a chuckle from the skinwalker.
>”Anon, we don’t have a radio between us either, whatever that is.”
>Huh.
>She does have a point.
>I frown, realizing we may well be the least well prepared human/skinwalker team on this side of the portal.
>Of course, unless I’m mistaken. we’re probably also the best prepared human/skinwalker team on this side of the portal, too.
>This causes me to snicker a bit, but when I look over at Mal to share my revelation, I notice a serious look in her eyes.
>”I hope you believe what I said earlier, about not letting that happen again,” She exhales, letting out tension I didn’t know she had been holding.
>”You gave me your word, we have a whole world to see together. So try not to die on me, alright?”
>Her tone is still playful, but the underlying concern is impossible to miss.
>”I’ll do my best,” I smile lopsidedly at her.
>”Mal?”
>”Yes?”
>”You’re not getting all sentimental on me now, are you?” I tease.
>She cocks her head to the side, fixing me with a playful gaze.
>”What, Anon, the ‘scary skinwalker’ isn’t allowed to have feelings?”
>I grin back at her, unable to resist such a perfect setup.
>”Feelings? Malorie, is there something you’d like to confess to me?”
>Her eyes widen in surprise, not expecting me to have gone on the offensive.
>”Oh-! Shut up Anon!” She exclaims in a flustered tone, leaning towards me to take a lazy swipe in my direction.
>Laughing, I lean out of the way, falling backwards off the log I had been sitting on.
>Still chuckling, I reach back to push myself up into a sitting position again, but a shadow falls over me as she steps across the log, standing directly above me.
>Eyes aglow with mischief, the skinwalker reaches down towards my exposed throat.
>I feel a single needle-sharp claw beneath my chin, upward pressure forcing me to rise until I am standing before her, jaw tilted upwards uncomfortably high.
>Aside from our breath steaming out into the night and the crackle of the small fire, the forest is eerily silent around us as snow continues to fall.
>It seems as if the whole of existence is confined to the small circle of firelight, a lonely world with two inhabitants.
>She leans even closer to whisper into my ear, her voice a sultry murmur.
>”If you’re not careful, that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble...”
>Her body presses up against mine, pushing me awkwardly back as she maintains the closeness.
>She deftly maneuvers us towards the nearest tree, until I’m backed up against it and I can retreat no more.
>Her nail withdraws from underneath my chin, only to be replaced by the feeling of her clawed fingertips against my cheek as she turns my head to look directly at her.
>I can see the unspoken question in her eyes, the hope that she’s not overstepping some invisible boundary or pushing too far.
>Just as my hands find their way to her waist, a silent answer to her wordless question, a gunshot rings out in the darkness.
>The bullet slams into the tree mere inches next to my head, spraying the side of my face with a hail of splinters.
>By the time I look back up Mal is already reacting, spinning around towards the threat with a murderous rage burning in her eyes.
>”Seventy paces out, halfway up the hillside, behind the big oak.” She snarls.
>Practically ripping her AR’s sling off of her, she tosses it to me as she takes off into the night, closing the distance frighteningly fast.
>I shoulder her rifle and take a kneeling position as another round impacts the ground right beside me. 
>The big oak tree she called out is visible even to my eyes, so I hold the front sight on where I think the last muzzle flash came from and begin laying down suppressive fire.
>Exhale, squeeze, inhale, reset, exhale, squeeze, inhale, reset...
>I lose myself in the mechanical act of working the rifle, only breaking the bubble when the magazine runs empty.
>By this time I figure she must have reached the shooter, so I step back over near the campfire and grab my rifle, careful to keep my dominant eye closed.
>It hits me that there’s no way to communicate now that we’ve split up.
>I mentally chastise myself, our earlier conversation about radios ringing in my ears.
>Dumbass.
>Oh well, I guess we’re doing it old school then. 
>I make my way to a fallen log 10 yards in front of the campfire, so anyone on the hillside will be looking towards the light to try to see me.
>Once I’m prone, I click on my illumination, and begin scanning the wooded slope for movement.
>Several minutes later, there’s a burst of automatic gunfire over to my right, and a strangled scream that’s cut short.
>Either the lone shooter from earlier tried to make a run for it, or Mal found some of his friends.
>Another burst of gunfire, and I see a dark shape sprinting down the hill, firing blindly behind it.
>With my crosshairs centered on it’s chest, I fire a single round and it tumbles to the ground. 
>I see another shadow behind it, one that can only be the skinwalker, gliding through the trees with an unnatural grace. 
>Even knowing that she’s on my side, I can’t suppress the shiver that runs through me.
>A human voice calls out, several hundred yards down the hillside to my left.
>I see what looks like a headlamp click on, followed by two more right beside it.
>Upon zooming in, I am able to see that lights are indeed headlamps, worn by three humans dressed head to toe in hunting camouflage.
>Between the distance and the gloom, it’s difficult to tell, but two of them appear to be holding shotguns, while the third has a scoped rifle of some kind.
>Unfortunately, they won’t get a chance to use them. 
>The three men stand shoulder to shoulder, lights scanning the hillside, while they begin to advance towards their fallen comrades several hundred yards closer to me.
>I reach into my side pocket and withdraw my rangefinder, which marks them at a crisp 537 yards.
>Double checking with the dope sheet taped to the side of my stock, I dial in exactly 48 clicks, confirm that there’s no wind to speak of, and place my crosshairs on the chest of the rifleman.
>My finger takes the trigger back to it’s first stage while I exhale, and I squeeze as soon as the last of my breath has escaped my body.
>Holding the trigger back through recoil, I am able to see the hit less than a second later through my scope.
>I relax the trigger back to it’s first stage while inhaling, as the rifleman tumbles to the ground over a quarter mile away. 
>His friends turn to look at him, dumbfounded, and then spin towards me when the sound of the shot reaches them.
>I finish my second exhale, and my rifle barks again, taking the second man in the gut. He doubles over, but this time I hold the exhale to send a second round downrange at him. 
>It hits clean through shoulder, driving down into the man’s torso, and he collapses like a puppet who’s strings have been severed.
>Sloppy shooting? 
>Maybe.
>Either way, I wouldn’t want to sit around with a gutshot waiting for the end.
>I pivot to the third hunter, inhaling slowly to try to lower the intense beating in my chest, but I never get the opportunity to take the shot.
>The skinwalker has already reached him.
>Inhumanly fast, she leaps out of the darkness to collide with the remaining hunter.
>One hand streaks out to swat the barrel of his weapon to the side, tearing it completely from his grasp, the other hand darting underneath his chin.
>I watch as she lifts him several inches off the ground, claws piercing upwards from underneath his jaw, pinning it to the roof of his mouth.
>His legs flail vainly, eyes wide with shock in a silent scream.
>One swipe of her other hand and the hunter is disemboweled, an outpouring of red viscera flowing from his abdomen to lay in a steaming pile below his twitching feet. 
>She holds him there, dangling, until the twitching stops, and then dumps his lifeless body to the ground.
>I stand up, shoulder the heavy LWRC, and brush as much of the snow off of myself as I can.
>I take a step forward, intending to go meet Mal by the scene of the fight, when I’m hit by a sudden pang of nausea.
>I drop to my knees, not quite understanding why I suddenly feel so ill, or why my eyes are watering.
>As I sit there dry heaving into the snow, I begin to wonder if today’s violence is having an impact on me after all.
>Maybe there is a difference between killing your first goblin and killing your first man.
>After a few minutes pass I feel a little better, and I haul myself back up to feet to begin the trek out to where our adversaries lay.
>I’ll just blame my sudden queasiness on the whiskey we had earlier.
>Even though it wasn’t more than a couple shots each.
>…
>Sure.
>Dignity status: mostly intact.
>As I walk out towards the scene of the battle, I notice a sinking feeling beginning to grow inside me.
>This many humans, all from my side of the portal and working together?
>Something isn’t right.
>I reach the first body before long, a man in mossy oak overalls and a jacket, with a 5.56 PSA AR still clutched in a deathgrip.
>I field strip it, taking his magazines and the BCG minus the bolt as spare parts for Mal.
>The hunter had little else on him besides his weapon and a water bottle, leading me to believe that these guys must be operating out of a camp somewhere nearby.
>I continue up the hill, discovering that there was in fact a shooter behind the big oak tree that Mal called out.
>Looks like four or five of the rounds from my suppressive fire took him out.
>A once-nice Winchester model 70, chambered in .270 looks like it caught a couple rounds to the stock as well.
>I’m about to move on when I feel something hard and spherical in the hunter’s cargo pocket.
>I reach in, withdrawing an M67 hand grenade.
>Huh.
>Not what I expected to find on one of these guys, but I’ll take it.
>I drop it into the dump pouch on my plate carrier and push myself up, trudging further up the hill.
>A third hunter I wasn’t able to see from the campsite lays facedown only 50 yards away, the arterial spray surrounding him on the snow telling me everything I need to know about how he met his fate.
>A cleared shotgun leans up against his body, the skinwalker’s tracks showing that she must have already come back after the battle to check this one’s belongings.
>Following her footprints, I make my way over to the other group of three.
>Three groups of three…
>These guys are definitely part of some organization, but so far they’ve been devoid of any unit patches or symbols, outside of their liking for mossy oak camo.
>As I walk out to the last group of hunters, the snowflakes illuminated by my headlamp seem to be growing in both size and frequency.
>An errant thought strikes me as I trudge onwards, following Mal’s prints.
>I have no idea what the weather on this side of the portal is supposed to be like.
>It’s been snowing almost constantly since I got here, is there even such a thing as summer here?
>I truly hope that this isn’t some sort of frozen tundra world.
>That would be just my luck.
>Stuck on planet Hoth for the rest of my life, killing ill-prepared hunters and shitty goblins.
>I’ll have to remember to ask Mal about whatever passes for seasons here.
>Finally, I crest a small hill and come upon the spot where the last three hunters fell.
>The skinwalker is crouched unmoving over one of the bodies, apparently having fed and searched the other two already.
>As I approach, I can tell right away that something is wrong.
>Normally Mal’s preternaturally acute sense of hearing has no issues pinpointing me, one or the other of her deer-like ears swiveling around to track me regardless of how silent I think I’m being.
>This time, however, they remain fixed forward, perfectly still as if she were made of stone.
>Her gaze is stuck on some sort of paper held in her hand, tiny snowflakes starting to collect upon the parchment.
>”Mal?” 
>My voice seems to break the trance, her head flicking sideways to look at me, an unreadable expression in her eyes.
>”Anon… We need to leave. Now.”
>Without further explanation, she thrusts the piece of parchment towards me.
>As I reach out to take it, my eyes linger on hers for a moment, attempting to unravel her urgency as if by sheer force of will.
>When I glance down at the note, I’m shocked to see it written in english, and perfectly legible, the lettering looking suspiciously like it came from a typewriter.
>”Attention group leaders - please distribute the following information to your team leaders, then burn as per usual. Due to an increase in our patron’s urgency, there have been several bounty increases. Also note that our next drop will contain specialty ammunition to allow more expedient harvesting of some of our more highly sought-after targets. Bounty increases are as follows:
>Beast: 50 silver
>Beast (supernatural): 100 silver
>Humanoid: 100 silver
>***Humanoid (undead): 200 silver
>Humanoid (supernatural): 500 silver
>Monster: 100 gold
>Monster (supernatural): 200 gold
>Monster (intelligent): 500 gold
>Monster (undead): 500 gold
>Monster (intelligent, supernatural): 1000 gold
>Finally, we are pleased to inform you that the live capture bonus has also been increased from a double bounty to a triple bounty.
>Happy Hunting!
>C.H.N.A.
>***Please stop with the piles of random bones. No, they weren’t ‘undead’. Yes, we CAN tell the difference.”
>
>Our eyes meet again while I fold the paper and tuck it safely into the chest pocket of my coat.
>No words pass between us as we turn back towards the campsite, the distant fire looking like a tiny spark struggling against the oppressive cold.
>Fuck. 
>Someone has hired an army of fudds, paying them a small fortune by our standards to capture and kill creatures from this side of the portal.
>What could they possibly want?
>Specimens for some sort of research, perhaps, or maybe something even more nefarious?
>Regardless, it seems as if we’ve found ourselves far up shit creek.
>By the time we reach the campsite, the snowfall has reached near-whiteout conditions, but we wordlessly begin breaking down camp.
>It’s clear that we’re not going to be safe here, the need to put distance between us overriding my distaste for traveling during the raging snowstorm.
>I know we need sleep, but being in such close proximity to such a large group of the hunters has me on edge.
>They didn’t have any survival gear, so they must have been on some sort of patrol away from their base camp.
>Who knows how many more of them might be nearby, but I know I don’t intend to find out.
>I glance over at the skinwalker as she kicks snow over the sputtering flames, dousing our fire before we depart.
>”One thousand gold.” She growls, rolling her eyes.
>I heft my pack up, a smirk subconsciously creeping across my face.
>”Honestly, I’m insulted. There are likely more dragons on the continent!” She huffs.
>”How many of you are there?” I blurt out, realizing I have no concept of what the resident population of skinwalkers might be.
>Malorie shrugs into her pack, fixing me with a measured gaze.
>”Of me? One,” She laughs bitterly. “Tell me, what do you know of skinwalkers?”
>I struggle to recall what I’ve read from a certain South Korean basketweaving enthusiast imageboard back at home.
>“Where I come from, skinwalkers are said to be either antlered werewolf like creatures that can copy the voice and form of others, or human shamans who use dark magic to change forms.”
>I clear my throat before continuing.
>”You seem... different. More like what people from my world would call a wendigo, something similar in form to a skinwalker but cursed to be driven to consume the flesh of men”
>The skinwalker gives a barely perceptible sigh, and begins to explain, finally willing to satiate my curiosity.
>”Tell me, are there not different types of humans where you come from?” She asks.
>”There used to be,” I respond. 
>“Humans are the only species left in our genus, others like the Neanderthals and Denisovans died out long ago.”
>”Here in this world, simply look at the elves. There are many different kinds, all unique.” She says.
>”There are even those who are not born as elves, but they learn elven ways and magic nonetheless.”
>I begin to understand the point she is making as she continues.
>”We are no different. Skinwalkers, which first came into being long ago, hold arcane abilities and gain intelligence with age and experience, as do men. Wendigos are a similar creature, cunning but unintelligent, supernatural but unable to access arcane power because they are driven only by instinct and hunger.”
>She pauses, shaking her head to dislodge the snow which has started to accumulate on her antlers.
>“There are even those who have learned to use the magic that’s innate to my kind, through study or sacrifice. Perhaps these are the humans on your world of which you speak.”
>I nod at her, deciding to probe further for more information.
>”I never knew the wendigo was a actual creature. All the legends from our side say it’s a curse having to do with cannibalism, that somehow transforms men into monsters.” 
>Mal pauses for a moment, an indiscernible expression in her eyes.
>”That is not entirely wrong… Much like with vampires, the first of these creatures came into the world with certain rituals, methods for passing on their form and powers to others to grow their numbers. Some would call it a curse, others a blessing. Many of the skinwalkers and wendigos that roam the world now are of this type, having traded away their original form and fate for a new one.”
>Malorie looks up at me, her blue-white eyes burning like miniature suns inside the inky void of her skull.
>”I am a skinwalker, were I a wendigo we wouldn’t be having this conversation and you would likely be dead. Through some twist of ill fate, I have never been able to use magic. I am unique in that I lack the arcane powers that are the birthright of my kind.”
>She grows quiet, then hefts her pack after a brief moment of introspection.
>”Let’s get out of here, Anon. The storm is growing worse, and I don’t want you trying to catch any other stray bullets.”
>Somehow, the new information only seems to leave me with more questions.
>Does all this mean that she’s existed for thousands of years? Or is she the other type, and used to be some other race entirely?
>If so, what circumstances led to her becoming who she is now?
>I glance at the enigmatic creature beside me as we leave the former campsite.
>She seems lost in thought, a somber expression written in her eyes.
>Something inside me urges me closer, and I reach out, grasping her clawed hand in mine as we press on through the dark, snowy trees.