She was busy fighting her own battles, winning her own spoils—but she didn’t forget about the one she had waiting, half her attention turned in that direction to see if anyone would go after it themselves. It didn’t look like it, and she was pleased, so when the horn was picked clean she took her bag in hand and the long, thin bundle—when she wrapped her hand around it and squeezed, she felt an encouraging row of metal meet her, and grinned wickedly as her god finally did something right—and set out. The injured boy, however, was not there waiting when she arrived—and she was fairly certain he had fallen here.

If she squinted, she could see a path through the bizarre surroundings, some place where they were disturbed, and so she followed, picking her way through the stickiness, wary for ambushes and whatever sickness was no doubt contained within them.