Water swallowed her misshapen flesh, murky as her muddled thoughts. She floundered in the darkening depths, struggling to remember how she got here this time. The memories, when tugged, came ever so reluctantly. There had been pale eyes and bright light and billowing steam.

And falling. Again with the falling.

Maybe she’d never stopped falling, and everything else she’d experienced had been a fever dream: the last gasp of a mind unwilling to accept the reality of her impending demise.

If that were so, then surely this was another such dream. For now she was back in this Stygian realm, tugged by leafy flesh-coloured tendrils growing from her spine and limbs. She’d been here before. Of that much she was certain. As before, the tentacle-vines were drawing her down into the warm dark.

But this time something was different. This time she couldn’t allow herself to be pulled all the way into the deep place. Not yet.

It was too soon.

What this feeling truly meant, she couldn’t say, although she sensed that it had to do with the two nearest passengers drifting in the water below her, trailing vines like her own, and the vast winged creature shining in the dark depths. One of the floating bodies was translucent and child-like, arms hugging her knees in the semblance of a foetus. The other, a scarred young woman with a face very much like her own, floated limply on the end of a large tangle of twisting tendrils that reached from her hands and feet all the way up to the back of her skull. This one drew a pang of melancholy from her.

The light from above receded, and she began to struggle; great clawed limbs kicking and thrashing against the pull of the vines. She choked and gasped, feeling the darkness close in around her. If she couldn’t get back to the light, something dire would happen. She didn’t want to find out what that might be. She needed to…needed to…

Her thoughts were growing sluggish, her exertions increasingly feeble. And still she drifted ever downward.

Resignation began to seep into the fading light of her awareness. How bad could it be if she just…?

Something clasped her by the hand, pulling her out of her fugue. The fingers that closed around her lumpy, clawed forelimb were like a tiny child’s compared to her own. It seemed as if that little hand would be too weak to halt her descent. But it wasn’t just physical strength the hand lent her. More important was the feeling of reassurance it provided. She was not alone. All would be well.

She squinted up at the one who lent the helping hand, but the face that gazed down at her was a mere silhouette, inset with eyes even blacker than the darkness that engulfed them.

Together, they began to rise toward the rippling light.

 

Spluttering, Saskia Wendle took in a mouthful of foul-tasting liquid. Ruhildi stood in the roiling foam at the river’s edge, straining to hold Saskia’s head out of the water without falling in herself.

The churning torrent in which they now found themselves flowed through a large tunnel, wide enough to fit an eight-lane highway, and just as tall. Through a haze of mist and spray, she glimpsed dripping stalactites overhead, jutting from a forest of faintly-glowing fungus.

“Sashki!” cried Ruhildi. “You need to be hauling your own arse out of the water, you great lump of trow! I can’t lift you. You’re too heavy!”

Pain tore through every muscle as Saskia slowly drew up onto the riverbank on her elbow and knees. She collapsed, feeling slick stones press into her bare stomach.

“That can’t be right,” she croaked. “Where’s my…?”

The last she remembered, she’d been decked out in plate armour.

“Och Sashki…” murmured Ruhildi. She looked stricken.

“It’s not that bad,” said Saskia, glancing over her shoulder at the mountain of naked troll flesh that had been her body since the day she first awoke on this world. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

A confused tumble of emotions played across Ruhildi’s face. “I’m fair glad you can still jape at a time like this. Let’s get you somewhere dry. Up there, if you’re able.” She pointed up at a rocky outcropping in the cave wall a few metres above the frothing water.

“I…I’ll try.” Saskia crawled a bit further, propped up by Ruhildi’s hand under her shoulder. Gasping in pain and exhaustion, she reached for the lip of stone, and pulled her upper body onto the ledge. There she rested for a time. She felt as if she’d been rolling about in broken glass. Something was seriously wrong, but she was afraid to think too hard about what it might be.

“Just a wee bit further,” urged Ruhildi, tugging at her. “Then you can sleep.”

Sleep. It seemed like she’d been doing nothing but sleeping lately, and yet still she needed more. She could go for a warm bed right about now.

With a final, supreme effort, she managed to lift one leg over the edge, then the other. She lay there, panting, utterly worn out.

Only then did Saskia look at the mass of blackened flesh that was all that remained of her right shoulder. As for the arm, there wasn’t even a stump.

She remembered the feel of the white hot blade slicing through her body, cauterising as it cut.

Saskia closed her eyes and wished with all her heart for the world to go away. And for a time, it did.

She returned to awareness slowly, reluctantly. Her missing arm felt as if it were being eaten alive by fire ants. Just the random firings of severed nerve endings, perhaps, but that didn’t make the pain any less real.

She tried to return to the state of mind that had allowed her to shrug off the druid’s swarming insect spell, all those weeks ago. Now that had felt like fire ants. Deep breaths, Saskia, she told herself. Pain is in the mind.

Slowly, the burning sensation began to recede into the background, until it was no longer an all-consuming concern. It wasn’t this easy for most people, but most people weren’t trolls. Or maybe it was an oracle thing, or…something else.

As her awareness of the pain lessened, her thoughts turned to the next most pressing concern: food. She took in the scent of something delicious cooking over a crackling campfire, and her stomach gave a loud growl. The thing felt like an empty pit, and small wonder, now that she thought about it. She’d been asleep for days before the elves attacked, and she probably hadn’t eaten anything in all that time.

“Good, your tummy’s awake, leastwise,” said Ruhildi. “Here. Eat.”

She pressed something hot and oh so juicy into Saskia’s mouth. All too happy to oblige, Saskia devoured whatever it was in several bites.

“More,” she demanded.

“Take it slow, lest you make yourself puke,” said Ruhildi.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a dwarf,” croaked Saskia. She shivered a little, wondering if that statement might actually be true. She prayed she’d never have to find out.

Ruhildi handed her a larger piece of meat, which she set upon with abandon.

“There’s no need for that,” said the dwarf woman, speaking Elvish. “I’m tough and stringy. An alvar though…now there’s a tender, juicy morsel. Enough of him for the both of us.”

Saskia’s stomach lurched, and she abruptly stopped chewing. What was this meat…?

Her eyes snapped open, and the first thing she saw after her vision cleared was the elf, sitting on the other side of the campfire, trussed up tighter than Spiderman’s spandex, very much alive, and glaring at Ruhildi. Saskia let out a breath. For a moment, she’d thought…but no, that was a ridiculous notion.

Ruhildi chortled at her. “If you could only see the look on your face.”

Apparently not appreciating the joke, the elf turned his gaze to Saskia, his eyes wandering across her mutilated body with a look of fascinated revulsion.

Feeling self-conscious under his frank stares, she reached to cover herself, before realising there was no need. Ruhildi must have fished some of Saskia’s furs out of the river while she slept, because they were now draped around her. She was still mystified as to how she’d lost them in the first place, along with her armour.

Propping her head up on her elbow, she returned the elf’s gaze, eyeing him up and down. It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at his face. Oh she’d seen him before when they fought each other, but she hadn’t really looked, because her mind had been occupied with matters such as not dying horribly. And when she’d looked through his eyes, she’d only occasionally been able to glimpse his reflection. She’d gotten more than an eyeful of his body though, and that of his elven girlfriend.

The guy had a physique that in a human would be considered lithe and athletic. For an elf, he looked positively beefy, although he still had nowhere near the bulk of his…well, his former friend: the one who had lopped off Saskia’s arm, paying no regard to this elf’s life, and sending the three of them tumbling down the waterfall.

All in all, their captive was not a bad looker, if slightly androgynous long-haired men were her thing. Which they weren’t, really. She did have a thing for pointy ears though, and he definitely had those, angling up from his head and curling over slightly at the tips.

His mottled gold and green skin was covered in dark bruises, and through the flickering flame, she could see that his leg was bent at an odd angle. Broken?

Saskia couldn’t help but feel a tingle of glee at the sight of his injury. Maybe a little too much glee. Nope, on second thought, it was just the right amount. A bit of pain was no more than he deserved after everything he and his fellow elves had put her through. He still had all of his appendages, which was more than she could say for herself.

“You didn’t kill him,” she murmured to Ruhildi, speaking Dwarvish so the elf wouldn’t understand what she said even if his ears were sharp enough to hear her. Although, come to think of it…maybe he could speak Dwarvish.

“Later, mayhap, if he’s giving me cause,” said Ruhildi. “Meantime, there’s much we might larn about our foes if we can get him to talk.”

She cracked her knuckles, and Saskia shivered, realising that Ruhildi’s proposed method of getting him to talk involved pain, and lots of it. Her dwarven friend clearly didn’t give a crapoodle about the Geneva Conventions. But then, neither did their enemies.

“Have you…made a start on that?” asked Saskia, eyeing his broken leg.

“Och no,” said Ruhildi. “’Twere…something else did that.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “I’ve laid eyes on him afore. When I were a slave, my kin and me shaped the very blade he tried to skewer you with. He were one of those who stood against me when I fought my way out of Wengarlen.”

Okay, now she was even more surprised Ruhildi had let him live.

“’Tweren’t easy staying my hand,” added Ruhildi, as if answering her thoughts. “But he’ll better serve his purpose alive—for now.”

Saskia lay back, both relieved and dreading what they might have to do. Maybe it wouldn’t come to that though. If they could get through to him somehow…

“Maybe we should try the carrot before the stick,” she muttered.

Ruhildi looked at her blankly. There were no carrots on this world.

“It’s an Earth expression,” said Saskia. “Never mind. Maybe if I heal his leg… Oh but I’d need arlithite for that. Need it for me too…” Her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton wool, and she was having trouble gathering her thoughts. “My satchel…the arlithite’s in there. Where is it?”

Right now, her trollish body could quickly recover from some pretty gruesome, life-threatening injuries, but not the burns she’d received from that searing sword as it cut through her. Only arlithite, the rare mineral she’d discovered up in the valley, could help her deal with that.

“Alas, ’tis lost,” said Ruhildi. “I followed the riverbank for a bit, and found some of your things, but not your satchel. Methinks it scattered into the water. But don’t you worry, Sashki. Like as not, arlithite is plentiful down here. We can gather more.”

Saskia’s gaze flitted about the tunnel. It was nothing like those they’d passed through earlier. The walls and ceiling and river bank were crawling with fungi and…plants? Some of them even had leaves! Whatever they were, these things clearly didn’t give a flying flock about photosynthesis.

“Speaking of which, where is here, Ruhildi? Is this the Underneath?”

With all that had happened in the past week, she’d almost forgotten their original reason for coming down here: they were looking for a way down to the large network of tunnels and caverns comprising the dwarves’ underground home. Saskia hadn’t been particularly enthused by the idea of living underground, but it beat the alternative: having people constantly chasing her, riddling her body with arrows, hurling spells at her, and hacking off her limbs. That summed up her experience with the elves who dominated the world above. She’d thought that maybe among the dwarves below, she might find a little peace.

That was before. Now, she was pretty sure no matter where she went on this world, there would be no peace. She’d drawn the ire of a god, and he would stop at nothing to destroy her. No, the Underneath wouldn’t be the safe haven she’d hoped to find. But she might find something else down there.

Allies.

According to Ruhildi, there were many dwarves still sympathetic to her father. Probably a lot more sympathetic than she herself was. If she could convince them of her lineage…

“Not yet,” said Ruhildi. “Though we fell quite a distance, ’tweren’t that big a fall. If luck be with us, this burrow will lead us to the Outer Hollows, and from there, we may find our way to the ’Neath within a pinch of fivedays.”

Several weeks!? thought Saskia, appalled. “Just how far down is the Underneath?”

Ruhildi gave her an odd look. “’Tis all the way down, Sashki.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ruhildi blinked at her. “I ken not what you don’t understand. The Underneath is the underneath…of Ciendil.”

Saskia still didn’t understand what it was she didn’t understand, but she wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders right now. She didn’t have the energy to puzzle through cryptic dwarvery, so she let the matter drop.

Back to the immediate problem…

She looked at her minimap. Okay, oracle interface, show me what you’ve got, she thought. Show me where we can find more arlithite.

Talking silently to her interface worked surprisingly often, and today it didn’t let her down. A bunch of icons appeared on the map showing an ochre-coloured mineral, a lot like the substance they’d refined from soil in the mountain valley up above.

Knowing what she had to do, she rose onto wobbly feet. Then the world began to spin around her, and she immediately sat back down.

“Rest, Sashki,” said Ruhildi with a hint of reproval in her voice.

“We can’t stay here,” mumbled Saskia. “They might come looking for us. I could be on my feet in minutes if I had some arlithite…”

“I’ll gather it for you,” said Ruhildi. “Stop trying to do everything yourself, you stubborn trow, and rest!”

Sighing, Saskia described to her friend where the arlithite could be found. She even scratched a little map in the stone beside her. Ruhildi caught on quickly, and set off downstream to collect the stuff.

Saskia watched as the blue dot representing the dwarf moved along the riverbank on her minimap, skirting around some of the yellow dots representing various denizens of the tunnel. Ruhildi was halfway there when some of the yellow markers converged on her location. Moments later, they winked out—and then blue markers appeared in their place. Saskia gave a silent chuckle. Those poor creatures hadn’t known who they were messing with. And now her necromancer friend had some fresh zombie minions to play with.

Lying there watching her friend delve into danger in her stead made her feel like one of those boring NPCs in games who sat around waiting for players to do their job for them. This coming after she’d literally slept through most of the final confrontation with the elves up in the Dead Sanctum. To be fair, in her dreams she’d been fending off a very real god at the time, but still… She was beginning to wonder if she was even the protagonist of her own story.

This sucks, she thought. I need to do something.

Saskia didn’t trust herself to walk very far, but that didn’t mean she had to just lie here being useless. Experimentally, she tried to sit up. The cavern wobbled about, but she remained upright at least. Trying to look as non-threatening as a giant one-armed troll could look, she crawled over to where the elf sat tied to a boulder. He flinched slightly at her approach.

“Do you have a name, alvar?” she asked in Elvish—or the forest tongue, as they called it. Far from the soothing tone she’d been aiming for, her voice came out more as a low growl. “I’m Saskia.”

“I have nothing to say to you, demon,” said the druid. “Just kill me and be done with it.”

Her head began to pound. Why was everyone on this world always with the killing? And they thought she was the monster?

“If you don’t give me a name, I’ll just make one up,” she said. “I’ll call you…Butthead. Wanna be called Butthead?”

After a long moment, he answered, “Garrain. My name is Garrain.”

“Great! Thank you, Butthea—I mean Garrain. Now…whoa…” She swayed woozily on her knees. What was she doing again? Oh right… “I’m just going to take a look at that leg of yours. Hold still.”

He drew in a breath as she ran a claw up the side of his tight leather pants, tearing them open at the seam. Garrain’s leg was indeed broken—and quite badly, judging by the gleam of blood-covered bone she could see through an opening in his shin. He must have been sitting like this for hours, in terrible pain.

And then, like magic, she could see the bones of his leg highlighted before her. Her medical overlay was kinda like X-ray vision, except she rather doubted she was actually dosing him with radiation. Being able to see the bones didn’t allow her to just magic the break away, but she could at least try to straighten and splint the leg. On Earth, she’d had only a modicum of wilderness first-aid training, and this was a bit beyond her experience. Still, she knew some of the basic principles on how to rig up a makeshift splint.

She turned to the equipment that Ruhildi had pulled from the river, looking for something long and straight she could strap to his leg.

There was no sign of the druid’s staff. Garrain wouldn’t be too happy about that. But there was the weapon he’d tried to use against her. The one Ruhildi and the other dwarven slaves had forged: a polearm tipped with a long, curved blade. A glaive? It was a beautiful weapon, all elegant curves and fine etching. A bit long to use as a splint, but maybe…

She touched the silver-white metal, and drew back her fingers with a yelp. They were badly singed, just from that brief moment of contact with the blade.

Okay, best to keep that thing away from the elf for now.

Then her eyes turned to the scabbard lying beside it. It was rigid enough, so that could work. Ideally, the splint would be fashioned from two such objects—one for each side of the leg—but she’d have to make do with what she had. One was better than none.

Returning to the druid’s side, she took hold of his leg, drawing a small gasp of pain from him.

“Not going to lie,” she said. “This’ll probably hurt—a lot.”

She pulled and twisted the bottom of his leg until the highlighted pieces of bone lined up, trying to ignore the horrible grinding sounds as they scraped together. He neither screamed nor passed out, which earned him some badonk points in her eyes.

Then she looked at the scabbard lying on the ground, and thought, Crap! How am I supposed to attach this thing one-handed? She probably should have thought of that before she messed with his leg, because her action had stirred up the wound, and where before there had been just a trickle of blood, now it had turned into a gusher.

Struggling to hold the wound closed, her claws nicked his skin, drawing even more blood. “Oh crap!” she muttered. “That wasn’t supposed to happen…”

There was so much blood, and Garrain’s face was turning green. Or greener, given that the colour was part of his natural complexion.

Dogramit, what am I going to do? Saskia was feeling clawfully clumsy right now, and her brain was trying to beat its way out of her skull. The elf might bleed to death if she didn’t do something. Her eyes returned to his glaive, lying just a few metres away. The one that had burnt her fingers at the slightest touch. Drastic times called for drastic…

She stuck the blade into his wound, wincing at the sound of sizzling flesh. Worse, the smell of cooking meat made her salivate. Being a troll really sucked sometimes.

The bleeding stopped, and she withdrew the blade, letting out a breath. Looking up at Garrain’s face, she saw that he’d finally, mercifully sagged into unconsciousness.

“This…is the carrot?”

Ruhildi’s voice made her jump. Her friend was standing behind her, a bemused expression spread across her face.

Saskia groaned. She dropped the glaive and planted palm to forehead. “No, this is not the carrot! This is as sticky a situation as I’ve ever been in. Look, can you just help me with this splint?”

At her urging, Ruhildi tied the scabbard to the side of his leg with strips of leather. Wearily, Saskia made her reposition it until the bone was perfectly straight.

She couldn’t stay upright any longer. She’d overdone it again. Next time someone tells you to rest, do as they bloody tell you, she admonished herself.

Lying back down, Saskia eyed the bundle of amber-coloured powder Ruhildi held. It looked like the dwarf already refined the arlithite into a pure form, using her stoneshaper magic. It was a slightly lighter colour than the stuff they’d gathered topside.

“’Tis a different form of arlithite down here,” warned Ruhildi. “Methinks ’twere shaken from the hide of a deepworm—the one that hollowed out these burrows in ages past, like as not. I don’t ken how potent it will be…”

Saskia held out her hand. “Thanks, Ruhildi. I’ll take my chances.”

She popped a pinch of the proffered powder into her mouth and swallowed. Almost immediately, she began to feel its effects. Wow, this stuff was way more powerful than the stuff they’d collected on the surface. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken so much… The whole right side of her torso itched so badly she had to lie on her hand to stop it from tearing at her skin. Her arm itched too—the one that wasn’t really there.

And that was when the convulsions started. She pretty much lost track of reality after that. When she came to her senses, Ruhildi was hovering over her worriedly. This was starting to become a habit.

“Did I nearly die again?” asked Saskia.

“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “The…changes were happening fair quick, and I were thinking it might be drawing more out of you than you had to give. Afore I fed you earlier, you hadn’t eaten a bite in days. So I shoved a few squealers down your gullet and thank the forefathers, you seemed to come right after that.”

“You’re my hero, Ruhildi. I’m not sure I would’ve thought of that. Just as well I can eat in my sleep. Sometimes I feel like a giant eating machine. Wait…changes? What changes?”

Something did feel different, now that she mentioned it. Gone was the pain and itching sensation along her right side, replaced by a feeling of…pressure.

Saskia pulled the furs aside, and let out a gasp.

Her ruined shoulder had indeed started to grow back, but not the same as it had been. Where before there had been mole-ridden skin—tougher and more leathery than human flesh, but still quite supple—now, it could hardly be called skin any more. The moles had expanded and hardened into something resembling rough stone. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be turning into a statue any time soon. This stuff was more flexible than it appeared, and she had no trouble moving her shoulder.

A significant upgrade in durability, if not appearance. Troll 2.0. Or maybe it was a demon thing? Just as long as she didn’t start growing those ridiculous shoulder spikes often seen on fictional demons and high level fantasy armour. Spikes would be no use in a fight. All they’d be good for would be catching on things and impaling herself.

There was a large lump dangling from the half-formed shoulder joint. Hopefully in time it would grow into a proper arm and hand. This wasn’t something that would happen overnight though.

“You’re turning into a rock trow,” said Ruhildi. “I thought they were a different breed than your surface kin, but mayhap ’tis the arlithite…”

“Rock trolls are a thing?” said Saskia. She flexed her shoulder again. “I don’t think this is actual rock. It just looks like it.”

“Aye, I can’t shape your new flesh, if that worries you,” said Ruhildi. “Only a cruorger could do that. If luck be with you, you’ll never meet one.”

Saskia shivered, remembering the story Ruhildi had told about her torturer. She looked at Garrain, who was awake and glaring at her. Had he had any part in her friend’s torture? Probably not, or Ruhildi would’ve cut his throat in an instant.

Saskia couldn’t have been out for too long, because her blood was still doing its thing. That meant it could heal him too. Somewhere deep inside her, a vindictive little voice was urging her to let him suffer. She shoved it down. At some point they might have to do something…permanent. But until then…

Grabbing a water bladder, Saskia ducked around a corner where the elf couldn’t see her. No need to show him how a healing potion gets made…

She balled her hand into a fist and squeezed, wincing as her claws stabbed through the flesh of her palm. Bright blood poured forth into the bladder. When it was half full, she added a bit of mud and water and slime to change the flavour (hopefully for the worse). Placing a drop of the resulting mixture on her tongue made her nose wrinkle and her eyes water. She tasted not blood, but something far worse: medicine. Oh he’s gonna love this, she thought, grinning to herself.

Sure enough, when she pressed the bladder to Garrain’s lips, he took one sip, then made a disgusted growl and tried to turn his head away.

“I know it’s gross, but potions of healing aren’t meant to taste good,” she said. “It’ll be worth it, trust me.”

“I’ll not take another drop of your poison, demon!” he spat.

Her patience wearing thin, she turned to Ruhildi. “Little help?”

“I’d rather be breaking his other leg, not fixing this one,” grumbled the dwarf. She roughly took hold of Garrain’s jaw and forced his mouth open, holding it firmly against his feeble struggles.

Together, they managed to get most of the concoction down his throat, while the rest dribbled down his chin and onto his leather vest. They watched in silence as the cauterised wound on his leg started to swell, before shedding its outer layer of burnt flesh, exposing smooth, healthy skin beneath. Meanwhile, Saskia held his leg as straight as she could until the two halves of the bone began to knit together in her oracle interface. It was happening quicker than she’d thought possible.

As the effects became known to him, Garrain’s expression changed from outrage and disgust to incredulity. “An elixir,” he muttered. “The mer would never… Where did you get this?”

Saskia wasn’t about to tell him her body was a mobile potion factory, so she just flashed him a mysterious smile.

With their prisoner able to walk, there was no reason to tarry. Any interrogation would have to wait. They needed to get far away from here as quickly as possible, in case that big scary lightsaber-toting elf showed up. Well, technically it was more of a lightclaymore, but that name didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. He’d moved so fast. Not even her trollish reflexes and combat telegraphing had been enough to avoid his strike, though they had saved her from being cut in half. She had no hope of defeating him with only one arm and no allies besides Ruhildi. Getting out of dodge was their only option.

If they were lucky, the elves would’ve just assumed she and Ruhildi—and Garrain—were dead. But there was still a chance they might be more thorough than the average movie villains, and find their way down here to check.

Before they set out on their journey, Saskia stepped over to the base of the waterfall where they’d landed after the long fall. Amidst a swirl of frothing water lay scattered pieces of the chunky plate armour she’d been wearing. Nearby, her massive hammer, which she’d dubbed Mjölnir, was wedged between two rocks. These items had been heavy enough that the swift current hadn’t carried them away. They were also too heavy for Ruhildi to safely pull from the water, so she’d just left them there.

Saskia had no such difficulties. But there was one thing she couldn’t bring herself to touch: her severed arm, waterlogged and oozing, with pauldron and vambrace still attached.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Saskia as she donned the dripping armour. “Actually two things. How did we survive the fall, and how did I end up naked?”

“I were hoping you could tell me,” said Ruhildi. “All I ken is what I saw. ’Twere so… I’m still not sure ’twere real.”

“Okay now you have to tell me. What did you see?”

“Alright well…one moment we were tumbling together down into the dark—you, me and the leaf-ears—and I were clutching at you like a little’un reaching for her mam’s teat. And then you…’twere as if you became fair big and…odd. I don’t have the words.”

“Try.”

Several long seconds passed before Ruhildi spoke again. “There were this light coming from beneath your skin, and it fair rippled and stretched. And you were no longer the Sashki I ken afore me, but this thing, all writhing flesh and impossible angles, spilling forth from the crevices of your armour, and licking out toward the walls.

“Quicker than I could blink, you—this aberration that were you—drew back into your armour and disappeared. I were left clutching hollow steel.

“We fell for some time; me and the alvar. I were counting down the heartbeats afore I’d be meeting the forefathers in the Halls Beyond. But then this thing of twisting flesh billowed up from the base of the falls and snatched us out of the air and lowered us gently into the water. Gently for me, leastwise. The leaf-ears, he were a wee bit knocked about.

“Next thing I ken, the aberration were gone and there you were, laying in the water like you were just taking a bath.”