The angler stared blankly out at the comically large tree as she sat upon a convenient rock beside their little camp.

They were well into the night now. Morning would come soon enough.

The embers on the campfire continued to smolder, just barely. All her companions slept soundly.

Soundly for most of the night, at any rate. S had been making a strange faces and noises. Almost like he was in serious pain.

She'd briefly gotten up to heal him a while ago, just in case, but it didn't do much. To begin with, he didn't seem hurt. Probably just having a weird nightmare. No sense waking him up from it. He needed the sleep, she figured. She went back to her rock.

And there she remained, staring out at that pointlessly big tree. She tried to think about something worth thinking about.

. . .

She found herself thinking about Beyes again. 

He was definitely alive, she knew. There wasn't even a possibility that he wasn't. There wasn't any doubt in her mind. How could there be? She repeated that thought hundreds of times, just to be sure. 

Still, he was probably hurt. It was possible that he was hurt a lot, and in several different ways. So much so that she might barely recognize him, once she found him again. 

It certainly wasn't a pleasant thought, but it was a reasonable thing to consider. And she'd considered it quite often. 

Then again, it could make him more apprehensive towards danger, which would make her job a lot easier. 

... That was also far from satisfactory. Even if it would ultimately be helpful for her, it might be displeasing for her to see him like that. Like watching one's cat get sick. That's be disheartening for most sentient creatures, she figured. She's no different. 

She doubted that this world had much in the way of proper, useful mental-health care. And she sure as hell wasn't qualified to give it to him. There's no vets for her to bring him to.

...

She wanted to get him back soon.

. . .

Speaking of cats, Catface sure is the worst, the angler reminded herself. Just the worst, the dregs of all sentient life.

. . . 

Later, the angler noticed that S's expression hadn't changed for a while. He still looks pained, but it's not moving, and he's not making much noise. Must mean the dream's over, the angler figured. Good, good.

. -

Something touched her shoulder. A hand?

She reached for her rod, and her head darted around.

At least, that's what she tried to do. 

Her movements were rigid and floppy. Her arm hadn't extended properly. It was as though she were moving through something she'd never encountered before, and her mind didn't understand how to operate. Her body still moved, but it was strange and uncomfortable.

Catface is behind this, isn't he? Even if he's not here right now, it's his fault. He's a devil, and all he does is make life worse for anyone unfortunate enough to meet him.

The angler wrenched her neck around despite this, seething as she searched for any sign of whatever did this to her.

She found... Nothing. Shit.

She shifted her gaze down to her size. Precise movements would be tricky, she'd have to keep her eyes locked on-

"Huh. So that's how that works on you." A familiar, irritating voice mused from behind her. "Neat."

This again? How many times? This brat..!

The angler turned towards the voice, seeing Catface standing behind her, with his back to the forest. He was wearing usual, casual clothes, but he also had an oddly large backpack, for some reason.

He stepped closer. There was something ethereal about him, this time. Like he was both present and elsewhere at once. The entire world seemed a bit off, actually. Almost unreal. But especially him.

"Suppose I should've figured. You don't sleep, so your body doesn't understand how to operate in a dream." He saw it fit to continue speaking, for some reason. "If your physiology were different, it might've just killed you." 

The angler thought about trying to blast his face off right then and there. It didn't take her more than few seconds to realize that she wouldn't be able to use magic like this. She barely understood how it worked to begin with. 

"Again with this?" The angler spat, her words dripping with disdain. "For the love of god get a hobby. Degenerate."

"Ah, you wound me!" Catface grinned and placed the back of his palm to his face and leaning back dramatically.

"Stale." 

"Hey, its your own fault for doing the same thing every time we talk!" Catface retorted, shooting back up to regular standing posture. "And, for your information, I do have hobbies." 

Catface's cat-face shifted. Though light was seeping out from the horizon, a shadow obscured his face. The showy smile warped itself into a grin of pure malice, and his comical eyes became confident and predatory. He stepped closer, looking down at the angler, his smile growing more intense with each step.

The angler glanced down at her rod, and moved began moving her arm. It wasn't worth paying this man any mind. It never was. She'd bide her time and figure out how to move. Once she was prepared, she'd do the same thing she's done every oth-

"Like dismembering that freak you call a brother."