One was silenced, the other struggled beneath him. Euranthe's work was swiftly done, or so she, in all three parts, had thought if only for a moment. She'd killed a man, perhaps he had family or friends... but so had she, once. That had never stopped men like him before. Now when her survival was on the line, was not the time to try and be the better person. She thought perhaps she should finish the one that was struggling but before she could, the sound of feet pattering through soft earth bounding in her direction drew her gaze.

The other of the men, the less brave, and more stupid, had come to her with words. "More coming." she had understood that much of what he said and so turned towards the pens and took off, her claws digging at the earth beneath her feet to gain traction more quickly as she broke into a feral gallop. sharp claws found purchase in soft soil and the ground began to shake more noticeably as her footfalls were not nearly so cautious and light as they had been in the cave, but rather her considerable bulk was positively bounding as she watched the other swarms of insects break free in panic, fleeing from brandished fire. No time to linger, no time to loose. Act and quickly and then move move move.

Euanthe's three upeer bodies shielded themselves with folded arms and braced themselves for impact as their necks reared back and too one side and the shoulder of her lower body drove into the corner of one of the pens with considerable force. Throwing all her weight into the impact she heard the wood splinter and shatter. The pens had been constructed to keep bugs in that more or less believed in the solid nature of walls. They were not designed to stand up under harsh impact, let alone from so much weight. The way each side leaned on the others worked against it as the crashing side leaned against the other and a full half of the pen collapsed, setting the bugs free in a chaos of splinters and sounds.

Already, Euanthe could feel the bruise forming beneath her scales and tried to hide it as she righted herself and looked to where her bandit companions were seeing if they had already begun to run away.

Bogskippers scattered into the long mist of the bogs, fleeing from the crashing and the fiery noises all around them. Boris' bludgeon flickered with flame as he turned to find the monster woman having finished the work he'd started, and the big man let out a sigh of relief. Their luck was holding out for the moment, but it was time to get the Hell out of the Mud Worm camp. It was only a matter of time before something went wrong. That's how the tough jobs always went.

The weakened brute did notice something as he was preparing to leave, though: the giant woman - women? - was favoring one side. Had she been hurt? He didn't see any blood. But there wasn't time to worry about that; he wasn't exactly going to get a clean bill of health, himself, with his multiple stab wounds in the leg. Growling, he reached on down, quickly tore a piece of his sleeve off, and make a makeshift bandage to keep his blood from flowing out. He'd sort out the rest later.

Fang started growling, so Boris knew danger was near. He nodded at her, then looked toward Raff and Euanthe.

"Let's go!" growled the brigand, and he broke into a run.

The bandits headed back the way they came, though Boris had the presence of mind to avoid the cave for the time being. He didn't want to reward the snake woman by leaving a set of tracks leading right to her home, if that was her home; that was a surefire way to get the creature killed. No, he cut a path through the wetter part of the marsh instead, a place deep enough that he and Raff would have to wade through the brackish waters to make any real progress. The big snake woman would probably have a much easier time of it, but the reason he'd chosen the path was because it'd make pursuit by anyone on foot incredibly difficult, and it'd be easy to choose a path that didn't leave too many tracks. The water was filthy and the bugs were aplenty, but that was a price Boris was willing to pay.

The group didn't speak much for the next ten minutes. Moving took too much effort. More than once did Raff, small man that he was, have to duck his head under the water and swim. Fang was able to dog paddle along the top of the water. She clearly didn't like that.

Finally, though, the group reached a dry patch of land well away from the Mud Worm camp. Boris practically collapsed onto a mossy log, his body heavy from fatigue and from the concentration it'd taken to push past his injury. The skinny slinger, Raff, just dropped face first onto the ground before rolling onto his stomach.

"Too close!" croaked Raff. Boris grunted in response.

Fang came onto ground after the others, looking absolutely miserable and irritated. She shook herself dry, sending mud and water splashing everywhere, especially onto Raff. The thin man, tired though he was, could not help but let out a weak chuckle that quickly turned into a whole laugh. Boris gripped his forehead, and he started laughing as well, the stress of their escape just washing off of him, like he'd dropped hundreds of pounds of baggage of his shoulders. He leaned on backwards, stared up at the misty sky, and sighed.

"Got lucky," murmured the big man.

And that's when a spear flew into the big warrior's back, knocking him forward onto the ground.

Raff gasped and whipped free his sling from around his wrist, wild eyes scanning the horizon. The attacker had been utterly silent, and the reason why was made quickly apparent: a bandit riding a bogskipper, one of the very creatures the group had just freed, came out of the gray mist with a bundle of spears on his back and a fresh one in his hand. Raff cursed and leapt behind a log. He started whirling his sling, but had to stop and duck when another spear came crashing right next to him, nearly taking him out.

Fang wasn't attacking. She darted over above Boris' body, growling and snapping at the man on the bogskipper to keep him away. But he didn't seem to mind that at all; his bogskipper simply walked across the water as if it was solid as land. He had infinite mobility, and he had plenty more spears to throw.

Boris struggled to stand back up, but the most he could do was take a knee. With blood running down his hand, he gripped his club and glowered at the mounted foe that he suddenly had to contend with.

It seemed, however, as if he hadn't noticed Euanthe. It was a perfect window to escape. The bandits could take the fall for their deeds, and Euanthe could be clean of the dark business she'd taken part in. They would surely die if she did, of course... but did they deserve any better?

Small stings of pain shot through her foreleg radiating around the shoulder with every bounding step away from the encampment. It didn't matter if Euanthe understood the words or not from the other men, their actions and the signs all around them were explanation enough. She'd continued her run leaving large raking claw-marks in the earth behind her, the only traces of some unknown beast to build big-fish tales around for those that found them.
She ran in the same direction as the men, they'd promised food and the camp was too populated to loot, and now too dangerous to consider if her choices had been poor. If she wanted what she was owed she would have to keep close to these men. Though the primary thought through all her mind at that point was survival.

As the bandits with her bounded for the water, the aching in Euanthe's shoulder was relieved at the impending lightening of its load. She hit the water like a beast born of it and its cold embrace helped lighten her pains even when her feet could still reach the bottom. She lowered her necks and sunk herself long and low so that heads and shoulders peeked above the water and lashing tails were hidden beneath it. It was not a dignified way to skulk away from an attack but she'd given up such notions long long before her re-awakening. Being low and in the water made her easier to hide, made her safer, and that was what mattered most.

As the little group moved, the silence set in, and Euanthe found the steady rhythm of her paddling strides and the lapping of the waves hypnotic. The longer the quiet stretched the more she could feel that ache in her shoulder twinning round the exhaustion seeping back into her bones. She'd been not nearly so active since waking up, for nearly so long. She felt the call of sleep and the desperate pleas for rest like the siren song of the grave. All her eyes were tired and as badly as she needed food to build her strength she almost didn't care if she could simply find a safe place to rest, to go back to sleep. Without the imminent threat of danger to pump adrenaline through her, to keep her alert, tiredness was tolling like a portentous bell.

One head, the kinder one, spared a glance to the wolf, and offered a gentle beckoning click of her tongue and a gesture towards her back that while appearing not unlike a stone in the water was cresting its surface enough for the canine beast to stand on.

However whatever response might have come was interrupted by the sudden laughing of the larger bandit. A noise that made all her heads wince and all herself try to sink lower into the water. He mumbled something and she opened one mouth to scold him, to urge him to silence, when the spear came instead.

Euanthe twisted in the water and saw their silent pursuer, cursing herselves for not keeping a better eye out. They flittered and darted by on their droning beetle and she saw her options spread out before her. Cut her losses, run away, sleep. Stay and fight and take on risk for men that were undoubtedly the sort she had loathed in a past life.

It was that past life that made the decision. For as long as she had lived in anger and spite, for as long as she had despised men and mortals of many sorts, some old lessons were far harder to shake, set in place by a far more important hand.
'Always keep your word, Euanthe. Even against the ones that would betray you.'
She remembered that voice like the twinge of an old wound. These killers and thugs deserved no better than to die like them, but she'd made a deal.

The violent head grit her teeth and her opposite bit her lower lip as all three sunk lower in the water, backed up slowly, and drifted closer to that skimming beetle that thought it was safer over the deeper water. She held her breaths and sunk just beneath the surface as it drifted closer, the rider preparing another spear, and then she erupted from the depths. Her tail lashing out like a whip in front of the beetle to startle it and her torso's rising from behind. Her hope that it would start and bolt backwards, driving the man into her waiting arms, and rending claws, hoping that spear did not find purchase in some important part of her.

Surprise was on the monstrous woman's side as she managed to spook the beetle and its rider. It did work, though not quite as she expected. The beetle started running toward her open arms, but the rider, barely hanging on as he was, had enough presence of mind to spot the ambush that had been set for him. As the gorgon-like hydra made her move, so did he.

The spear-throwing rider leapt from atop the beetle and tumbled onto the muddy shore nearby. He came up to a crouch rapidly, then hurled one of his spears straight at his serpentine assailant. The man didn't hold still very long, though, for a fiery sling stone went buzzing past his ear, even scorching it a little, as Raff mustered up his courage and joined the fight. The spearman cursed and chucked another spear back, but suddenly he found himself facing two foes on two fronts: one on the shoreline and one in the water.

Grimacing, the grounded rider plucked another spear from his bag. He wasn't going to go down without a fight. He wasn't going to let it end like this! He wasn't-

And then the wolf came rushing out at him from behind, snarling and leaping at him. He twirled just in time to thrust his spear at it. The tip found purchase, and with a heave the man tossed the wolf aside, sending it tumbling across the rocky, muddy ground with a yelp. Fang slowly started to get up, but her injury was serious, and she was unsteady on her feet.

Still, Fang had done her job. She had made an opening for the others. There was a chance to strike.

Euanthe had not expected the bug to turn so quickly, had never tried to anticipate the movements of a large insect before or seen anything like it in the past. When it spun on her she tried to shield her faces with her arms and felt the sharp sting and hot pain of something sharp ripping open one of her fleshy sides. The cold water had chilled her skin enough that the pain was not as searing as it should have been but now blood flowed in the water stirring up the bugs and adding that call to the more predatory things that might lurk about.

Turning on her attacker, hungry to end it quickly and to avenge her pain she saw him as she batted away the fleeing insect now free of the burdens and demands of a rider. Euanthe raised her tails from the water and twisted her body to ready herself to attack. She leveled her gaze on him in time to hear the help and see the wolf tossed aside and she let out a yell of anger as she lashed with both of her barbed whips in order to end the man swiftly as she could.

The rider had barely finished knocking the wolf aside when those lashing, barbed tails slashed towards him. Had he been less dazed, or had he been less beleaguered, maybe he could have fought back. But he could not. One last fiery sling bullet popped the ground near him, and he bounced back right into Euanthe's vicious strike.

The rider collapsed to the ground in a spray of red as those barbs tore his chest open. He screamed and cursed, raising his spear to fight back, but he haplessly dropped it upon the ground, too weak to clutch his own weapon. Still, he spat and cursed incomprehensibly, fighting every last second for his life. Shaky, bloody hands gripped the knife in his belt instead, and he rolled onto his stomach to push himself up, and-

CRUNCH.

Boris stood over the man's corpse, executing the already good-as-dead rider. The wounded thug looked up to Euanthe, his club messy with gore, his left hand clutched tightly about the broken spear shaft in his chest, his leg limp from the injuries he'd sustained. Quietly, he dropped the club, and he refocused his attention on the wounded wolf, quietly doing his best to help the dog.

Raff, however, knew his priorities. He quickly darted over to the dead rider and started rifling through his pockets.

The aftermath didn't take long to settle. Raff nicked a pair of boots, a knife, and a coinpurse; Boris managed to use a little herbal medicine¹ to get the canine back on her feet. It was a miracle she was still alive. It was a miracle any of them were still alive, really.

Boris hobbled over toward Euanthe next, breathing heavily. He held up the satchel of herbs and foul-smelling jars, gesturing for the monstrous woman to approach. It was obvious he didn't really want to approach, that he was afraid, but he was able to put that aside to at least patch her wounds.

---

_{1. Medical Kit}

Euanthe watched the rest of things follow their natural course as she pulled her tails back into the water and one hand clutched her wounded torso. Her more aggressive self gritting her teeth as she she watched the end of their attacker while the opposite head turned away, hearing the sounds but not observing.

The men tended to themselves and Euanthe took stock of herself, the gentler head moving to examine the wound of the more aggressive one who tried to push her away. Two sides of the same mind conflicted between trying to tend to and comfort herself or ignore it until she was alone.

As one of the others took a step towards her all three heads turned in unison to face him. The wounded one growled under her breath and the kind one smiled if only faintly. The injured party raised one hand as if to bat the man's offer away but the placid middle head rested a hand on her shoulder and she stopped, before huffing indignantly and looking away from the larger bandit.

She kept her arm raised to leave the wound exposed and with another nudge from her other parts she lowered herself enough to be tended to. The opposite head swept lower, level with Boris and turned to both watch him and what he was doing with inquisitive eyes. It seemed as if he had been granted permission, if briefly.

Boris didn't speak while he did a little healing. Truthfully, he was worried he wouldn't have much time to work. The angriest of the three heads of his patient seemed liable to lash out at him any moment. It was better to focus on the task and be done.

The big man didn't exactly have gentle hands, nor was he an expert healer, but he did his best. The spear was carefully removed, the wound sewn shut with needle and thread, and a foul smelling paste was applied overtop that. It was a painful experience, and the paste felt slimy upon the wound, but when it was done the bleeding was stopped, the wound was clean, and the pain was nulled by a gentle, cool feeling.

Whatever was in the jar was good stuff despite the stink.

"Right," mumbled the blond fellow, stepping backward and tucking the medical tools away. He wiped a bloody, dirty forearm across his brow, then dropped his backpack down to the ground and dug inside. Finally, he withdrew a fairly large jar filled with brown stew.¹ He held it up to the monster along with a sack that had a couple heads of cabbage that had seen better days.

"Here," the bandit grunted, remembering she'd need a spoon and so fetching a wooden one from a pouch on his belt. "It'll warm you right up. Should keep you going for a day or two before it runs out. Ain't much, but it'll help.

"There's more back at camp," Boris mused, glancing off to the west and then back at Euanthe, glancing from one head to the other as he spoke. "But I think you said you didn't wanna meet the boss. So, I ain't pushin'. But he'd be glad to have someone as scary as you on our side."

A sharp yelp from nearby interrupted the conversation. Boris glanced back and saw Raff trying to help Fang to her feet, but her wound, while attended to, left her in too rough a shape to go anywhere soon. She'd live, probably, but... taking her on a long journey looked to be out of the question. Raff whispered encouraging down to the dog, but Boris knew she'd have to be left behind.

Although... Maybe that's not such a bad thing, Boris thought to himself. He glanced up at the monster again, the gentlest head specifically, remembering how she'd been trying to entice the wolf to her before. Maybe...

"Why don't you take care of her?" the big man suggested to the soft-spoken third of the woman. He jerked his thumb back toward the wounded wolf. "Fang's only gonna make us slower, and I'd hate for a good dog to put down. Be good if someone could make sure she got better, yeah?"

---

_{1. Flask of Feijoada}

The wounded head grit her teeth and made a strong show of being unflinching as she was treated, though the unexpected slime when the stitching was done surprised that part of her enough that she flinched and made to swing but the other head caught her arm and stayed her wrath. They were being helped, not hurt. She was assured through thought and gesture alone.



As the business finally seemed done and the man backed away his patient folded her arms indignantly and the other two thirds were more relaxed. The gentler one moved to take up his offerings sniffing them curiously and nibbling at the lid of the jar. The cabbages taken but largely ignored for the moment. 

"No camp! No Boss!"

The wounded head was quick to snap, bearing her teeth in an angry sneer.  Boris proposal had been heard and rankled her as if he might be trying to change the terms of their sparsely spoken agreement.

"No Sides."

The center head spoke in a calm and even tone that both quelled some of that fire and elaborated on her reasoning with what few words she could impart in a tongue the men would understand. They were not her enemy and it was not her aim to wound their pride, they had seen too much of what a man would do to avenge such wounds, and that kind of animosity was the last thing they needed.

Euanthe had been about to pull back and turn away, to insist they follow through on her other term, by departing, when she heard the wolf make its sad sound. The kinder head turned to the others and back, biting her lower lip, the angry head loosed a frustrated sigh.

The offer caught their attention though they did not fully understand his words yet again they furrowed all their brows and looked to the wolf and back. 

"If she dies, we eat her."

the constant objector huffed, crossing her arms again, even so she turned her face enough to watch out the corner of her eye as the central head, with eyes concealed, blindly reached forward towards the canine. Her whole body moved closer to the shore and rather than foolishly reach a hand towards the wolf she simply lowered herself enough for it to reach her if it decided to sniff her out. 

"If she chooses. Good nose. Good teeth. Good guard."

"Good girl~" the face of compassion could not help but whisper to the canine. 


Then all fell silent to see what the wolf decided. 

The wolf didn't move at first. She was injured still and was wary of the hydragorgon. Nevertheless, Boris jerked his head over toward Raff, and the skinny man carefully helped the wolf stand enough to start moving.

"You sure about this?" Raff whispered as he approached Boris, his hand tight about the wolf's harness and his eyebrows knotted together like worms.

"You think I ain't?" was all Boris said in answer.

Raff decided not to argue. Nervously, he approached the monstrous woman and pushed the wolf toward her. At first, the wolf growled in a warning tone and held firm, not wanting to approach, but then Raff clasped his hand about the magic necklace he was wearing and leaned on down, whispering a few words into the wolf's ear. The wolf calmed slowly, and Raff gave the beast a scratch behind the ears. Then he stood up.

"She's, ah... a bit hard of trust," Boris said from behind the other man. Raff scampered out of the way. "You take care of that dog, now. Bloody thing's earned a proper bit of rest after all she's been through," he added in a mutter.

In truth, he wasn't just talking about the battle. Boris knew the sort of training the wolfdogs back at camp went through. It wasn't gentle. Even wolves weren't born that vicious. They had to be made vicious. That was one part of the job he'd never gotten used to. No, Fang would be better off in someone else's hands. Her condition just made a good excuse to give the poor girl an out.

"You ever come around the forests of the Moon Glade and find us Devils, you just say you know Boris, yeah?" The big man picked his bloody bludgeon off the ground. "Might save your life one day."

Euanthe saw the hesitation. Saw the reluctance in the wolf; but she also read the actions of the larger man. How he tried to urge her, not in a manner of someone annoyed by an object that would not do its bidding. In his tone, in how he acted, he seemed more a man trying to help someone against their better judgement.

One pair of hands opened the jar and scooped some of the contents out onto her fingers gingerly offering a hand, halfway between herself and the wolf, inviting it to come closer. The smells, after whatever words were whispered, were enough to lure her over to lap at the offered food. Euanthe hesitantly ran her fingers through the short coarse fur between her ears before gently moving to remove that harness they had saddled the wolf with and tossing it aside. 

She was free now, to join Euanthe or walk her own way. The bandits property no longer. Nevermind that she was slipping her another pinch of the stew to keep her interest. Though she did not understand what Boris had tried to say about being slow to trust, it was a mentality she could appreciate and relate to all too well.

The kinder head busied herself with their new friend cooing soft praises in a tongue none here but Euanthe spoke. Her more menacing  opposite eyed the men instead with an expectant brow arched, waiting for them to leave as they were meant to. The sooner the men left, the better she would be. Less attention being drawn, less vulnerabilities, less potential threat.

The center head looked in their direction as much as one could blindfolded as she was. Her serpent hair writhed and hissed upon her head, some strands hissing, others simply tasting the air. She turned the space where her gaze should be, on the other side of the shroud, on Boris as he introduced himself, only retaining a few snatches of what he was trying to say to her. 

"Boris, the devil."
she gestured to him with one hand and then to herself.
"We are Euanthe. We will remember you." 

Her words rang with a sense of finality as she folded her arms and watched, sightlessly, waiting for them to turn and leave. She would find a new place to stay tonight, somewhere further away from the shaken camp and where the men had found her, just in case. But she would have to find it soon, she could feel that pall of exhaustion sweeping over her once again. Today had been an ordeal in the face of her recovery and the siren call of rest was singing her name.