The Vodat, so calm and quiet this entire time, suddenly wrenched and twisted about, as if seeking a hidden ambusher. Novek couldn't see it well — even with his night-vision it was hazy and indistinct. But its eyes had gone wild — searching for something they could not find. Its muzzle contorted in a feral snarl and the acidic smell suddenly strengthened. He was no Human, to automatically associate showing teeth with either anger or aggression, but he wasn't familiar enough with Vodat to know what this might mean. They were utterly silent, which was unnerving, but he knew they didn't speak, eat, or even breathe like most animals, or even other Ber.

  Beyond that oddity, Novek knew they could share their own vision among the pack, like a hive mind that only transmitted images — not thoughts. Were they seeing something from elsewhere? Was something happening to the kit? This seemed like stark terror — Novek had no idea what could cause this kind of reaction, and he'd seen more than his share of battle.

  Lennert had finally gotten the key into the lock, but now stopped short of turning it, and raised his head to look upwards at the roof. He couldn't see the Vodat above from where he stood, due to the angle, but he could hear the frantic scrabbling of claws on tile, and it clearly alarmed him. His eyes went wide, and he gave a quick sideways glance at Novek, seeming to ask for some indication as to what was happening and what he should do. He let go of the key and reached for his spear, unsure and afraid.

  The Ber's spastic motion caused a cascade of tiles to come loose from the poorly built hut and clatter down from above. They were followed a moment later by the Ber, which had lost its footing as a sheet of baked-mud roof tiles came loose as one. The black shape thrashed and spun as it fell, and one of its paws struck Lennert across the face, a claw catching him across neck and shoulder. Blood sprayed suddenly — that had been an unlucky hit.

  Lennert recoiled and shouted, “No! I'm doing what you asked! Stop!” and he thrust the spear forward, catching the Ber in the shoulder, weakly. Its own thrashing pushed the spear deeper and into its neck, before it realized what was happening and tried to pull away.

  Letting go of the spear, Lennert clutched at his neck and fell to a knee. Blood was gushing between his fingers. Too much, too fast. Novek rushed forward, grabbing his hand, and pressing down — hard.

  To Lennert, he said, quickly, “Do not let go. Put as much pressure on this as you can.” Then Novek turned and yelled as loud as he could towards the inn. “Help! Help! Medic! Get the midwife! Bring bandages!”

  He heard the guard at the door echo the shout and a clamor started as the village rushed to action.

  Novek kept his hand pressed over Lennert's own to help keep it in place, as the youth sagged against the wall, focusing with his remaining will on not letting go.

  Novek turned to look at the Vodat. It was down on the ground now, no longer thrashing. It had seemed to gain some semblance of sanity and was calm, but focused. No mean feat, given the spear sticking out from where its neck met its shoulder.

  The Ber tried to grip the spear with its paws to pull it out, but could not grip it. It changed tactics and instead sliced through it with a single green tinged claw — the acid smell came overpoweringly strong again up this close.

  It was difficult to see in the dark, but the Ber seemed to be losing cohesion, the eyes seeming to float in a dark miasma. Ah, it was trying to dislodge it the spear. They could flow their bodies almost like a liquid — and fit through anywhere their eyes — which could not do the same — could fit. But they did have organs and could be hurt, and this one was clearly hurt very badly.

  Everything had been going so well, and then somehow turned as badly as he could imagine, barring a full scale attack.

  Sometimes things happened to remind him that he just wasn't all that imaginative. This was one of those times.

  He looked the Vodat in the eyes. “Can you run?”

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  The vodat tried to move its head, winced, and waved the paw twice on the opposite side in a negative gesture. A firm no. Okay.

  Novek took a breath, decided.

  “Are there others? Nearby?”

  A tilted paw knock, and a wave to the side. So, probably yes to others. Slight no on nearby.

  “Okay. I'll try to find them. Now you have a decision to make. Make it fast. I will protect the kit, but I cannot protect you. I'm sorry.”

  Paw knock. Yes. Then a glance to the door, a paw held somewhat upright — shield, then a glance to the coming Humans.

  “Yes, even from them.”

  A paw up, then swept to the side. Yes, but no. Doubt.

  “I will even kill — only if I must — but I will. If you are able, say what you must say to the child, quickly. Your choice, is if it's going to be me, or them. Do not force the kit to watch.”

  Novek took his hand away from Lennert's neck. The boy had passed quietly, the slow leak of blood had stopped with the cessation of the pulse. He instead reached for the tip of the spear, but held it gingerly, but firmly in place, careful not to jostle it.

  The vodat went quiet and still for a few moments; whether able to communicate with the kit, or merely taking a moment to steel itself, Novek couldn't tell.

  Then the vodat looked him in the eyes, made the shield gesture again, once, twice, three times. It paused and knocked his paw once, a beat, then again. The Ber'Duun — it could be nothing else — closed its eyes and pushed itself into the spear with all the strength remaining to it.

  Novek made sure it did the job right, so that the choice would not remain in the hands of the coming mob of terrified, angry villagers.

  A few moments later, the press of villagers made it to Novek, surrounding him as he knelt by the two bodies. They kept their spears pointed at the dark corpse, unsure if it would spring to life and attack. Absolutely none of them were looking behind them — amateurs. The midwife rushed to Lennert's side, but it was more for show, she saw the blood and the ashen, staring body, and knew that Lennert was gone. She appraised Novek, looking for wounds, then met his eyes — he shook his paw no, he had no need of care. She was no stranger to making good appearances of bad situations, and made a show of doing what she could for Lennert, so that people would feel that an attempt was made.

  The usual questions were asked. Were they safe, were there more, what had happened to Lennert.

  “There's just the one — I haven't seen another, and none came to its aid. I would suggest everyone stay holed up in the inn tonight, just in case, but if no further attack comes tonight or by dawn, it's likely over.”

  He'd considered telling the villagers that the body was that of a Ber'Duun, but that could only bring more problems. Better they believe it a simple animal — whatever that meant.

  Novek gave all the credit to the youth, some quick words of respect. It was more true than not, which made the lie of omission easier. It would make his departure simpler, if he could avoid people trying to awkwardly thank him.

  He gave silent thanks that the kit had ceased scratching; he tried not to think of why, lest anger at the situation overtake his reason. With all the people talking and moving about, he doubted the villagers had a chance to hear it with as quiet as it had been. He stood up from where he'd knelt next to the bodies, using the door as an aid to make sure it wouldn't open due to his efforts with the pry bar, and quickly pocketed the key. He made sure to cover the motion with one of fatigued leaning on the wall. That would make things easier, and quieter, later.

  Letting go of the wall where he was leaning, Novek put on an air of exhaustion — no real difficulty there, though in truth it was more mental than physical. Explaining that he was hungry and tired, he deflected any further questions and walked back to the inn in solitude. He found the innkeeper, answered the questions again since the man hadn't been outside, then told a few others who walked over to inquire mid-explanation that they could ask the others when they arrived. Then he insisted upon somewhere private for the night with the innkeeper, a little more forcefully than he'd have otherwise done. He'd want to be able to leave without drawing attention, so it was best if he was out of sight, out of mind.

  With another dead villager, there wasn't a celebratory mood yet, especially since they weren't assured of safety, but the anxiety was lessening, and they'd be butchering the Ber'Duun soon enough unless someone thought to sell a whole body for more. No, he was almost certain it would be meat for the village — Ber meat empowered Talents, after all. Humans lacked the engineered digestion to sift out aetherically infused material, and so relied on the Ber physiology to accumulate it. It was why Ber meat was a widely accepted currency in the Human lands.

  He had no desire to take any sort of compensation from these people beyond a place to rest for a few hours while he prepared, he'd certainly lost his appetite for pay, of any sort.

  Making his way to the private room, he closed the door and kept quiet — pretending at sleep for the next few hours, while keeping an ear out for excited shouts or any mention of a kit. It was going to be a long night, but he dared not risk unconsciousness at this point — he had a promise to keep.