Lady Herela was true to her word. The Hunt, changeable, mutating, flowed around and before the travellers. Quickly overcoming her initial bad first impressions of the other dogs, Sunny trotted with the dark hounds as quickly as her injured limb would allow her. She was so large now that her head was at the same height as the horses; the Hunt hounds slipped around at her elbows.

“You have a hound following you, cousin.”

The necromancer raised a thick eyebrow at Lady Herela, and then glanced at Sunny. “Yes?”

Lady Herela shook her head, the great antlers creaking. “Nay, this hound is sniffing and digging. The lands are beginning to whisper of a death-speaker, who appeared in a village one day, drove each and every living soul there to their deaths, and vanished, and this hound is hunting them down.” She smirked at the necromancer. “You are too close to them, cousin.”

“And now who the hell d'ye mean, ye cryptic bone bag?”

“Humans, dear cousin. Mortals. Do not forget you are one of us.”

“I don't know what ye're gabbing about,” the witch muttered.

“When I spoke just now, I saw those bright green eyes of yorn go straight to your pretty little sweetheart over there. Do not try to fool me, cousin. You are afeared for them.” Her exposed teeth were fixed in a bony grin. “Mortal die. That's their lot. And we go on until we fade into the hills and woods. Though, 'tis a pity. They are not the most beautiful child I have laid eyes on, but there is a lovely charm about them.”

The necromancer muttered something that seemed to start with “They are...” and quickly trailed into something unintelligible.

“What did you say, cousin?”

“Ah Yuet'll survive the end of the world, they would. Don't look down on that monk. It'll get ye in trouble.”

“What are you hoping to achieve?” Lady Herela asked, gaze steadily forwards as her horse paced on. Ahead, Sou Yuet was swallowing a handful of snow to cool their sore throat, before launching into another story. “Why have you come back to these lands?”

“To see Mam.”

“And then?”

“None of yer business.”

“If you keeping playing at being human, you are walking into the wolf's jaws.”

“All I want if for Mam to meet Ah Yuet and then we'll be going...”

“Going...?”

“Home. Back east.”

“You think 'twill be that simple? You are a fool.”

“Damned right I am.”

“So how are you planning on crossing the sea, fool? Are you planning to swim? Fly? Do you think no-one would notice you merrily prancing back?”

“Don't tell me ye're worried about me.”

“Then I will not,” Lady Herela said drily. Her eyes drifted back to Sou Yuet. “Maybe I am the one getting too close.”

“Hey, don't be getting any ideas-”

“Be quiet, you fool. Was it that child's thought to tell us stories?”

“T'was.”

Sou Yuet's voice drifted back to them, sounding almost as rough as the necromancer's. “... Si fu had to feed me lobelia leaves to make me throw it back up...”

“You did not give them any hints, perchance?”

“Not at all.”

“So how did they know?”

“Fecked if I know. What are ye on about?”

“You really are-”

“Lady Herela?”

Both the Hunt Leader and the necromancer swung around in surprise, having not noticed that Sou Yuet was now in front of them.

“... Child?”

“I'm afraid my throat can't keep keep up with all this talking, I'm really not used to it.” The monk's voice really was raspy and breaking. “So I was wondering, do you and your hunters have some stories you could tell me? When I go back... I'd like to take them with me.”

The Hunt had come to a halt. Even the ever-flowing hounds had settled, everything holding its breath as Lady Herela stared down at Sou Yuet, and Sou Yuet smiled back up at her.

“My horse's name is Melhih,” she said, surprising everyone, including herself, it seemed. Slowly, slowly, the hounds began to move again, the horses paced forwards, and Sou Yuet walked beside Lady Herela and her steed. The dark mare whickered softly, at odds with her shining red eyes.

“I no longer remember why I called her that. I am sure it meant something to me, once. I believe... she has been with me since the beginning.”

Melhih wore no bridle or saddle, Sou Yuet noticed. Lady Herela's gloved hands were entwined in the mare's dark mane, and the two of them, hunter and horse, moved as one through the woods.

“Do all of your horses have names?” Sou Yuet asked, dark eyes drifting over the Hunters and their steeds.

“Hédkapyéti,” said a rider whose hood was pulled low, obscuring their appearance. They scratched behind the ears of their horse. “And Dēne.” This was accompanied with a gesture at a black dog that trotted at the horse's hocks.

And then every Hunter was eagerly naming their animals, almost falling over themselves to proudly declare their names to Sou Yuet.

“This is Kóymos, and Probewg.”

“Henǵos. Sómtus.”

“My horse is Swé. My hound is Kwndh.”

Sou Yuet smiled at the last one who spoke. They were the shortest of the Hunters, their voice still high and light under the dark cloth they wore around the lower half of their face. “And your name?”

The Hunter's grey eyes flickered and grew dark. A silence followed Sou Yuet's question, wherein the Hunters began to drift onwards, no longer playful. At last, the Hunt leader spoke.

“Herela is not my birth name,” she said. “The mortals here began to give me that name... Mortals are so attached to names, are they not?”

“Is that why you've given names to your animals?” Sou Yuet asked with a small smile.

Lady Herela looked at the monk sharply. “I cannot tell if you are as much a fool as my cousin. Are you capable of hate?”

“Hate? Why, Lady?”

“Ha. I see.”

“Do ye?” the necromancer growled suddenly. “I thought that to, ye know. This damned monk... all they can do is smile like an eejit. Ye have no idea -”

“Pang Yau, don't be like that,” Sou Yuet interceded, placing a hand on the necromancer's arm.

“Ye've chosen this,” the witch said softly. “Ye could have hated yer parents, ye could have hated the Hunt. Hell, I don't believe ye even hate that rat's ballsack Spideog.”

“How do you know I don't?”

“Well, do ye?”

“Not really. He's quite funny.”

“See.”

“The two of you have forgotten that we are also here, methinks?” Lady Herela remarked.

“Most folks'd spit on me as soon as they see me, or at least the other way. Instead ye threw me in a bathtub and forcibly hacked my hair off...”

“Are you complimenting or insulting me?”

“What's the difference, dammit?”

“Just kiss already!” someone in the Hunt shouted.

“WHO THE FECK SAID THAT?” the necromancer roared. The Hunt members scattered, giggling like children, as the witch charged amongst them. Sunny barked excitedly and capered after the necromancer, and the group devolved into chaos.

“What is it that you are smiling about, child?”

Sou Yuet patted Melhih. “You seem to be happier, Lady Herela.”

“And you? Do you feel satisfied with your little act of charity?”

“I suppose.” The monk affectionately rubbed the horse's nose, who closed her eyes appreciatively. “I envy animals, sometimes. She can enjoy this moment without questioning it.”

“So I should just blindly accept your pity?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Is that what you want?”

The small smile had not left Sou Yuet's face. If anything, it looked somewhat apologetic. “What is it that you want, Lady Herela?”

“Why? Will you give it to me? What if I said I wanted to eat your heart and tied your spirit to my horse's tail to be dragged behind me for the rest of eternity?”

“That would be a pity. I would have to decline that request.”

“After baring your fangs at us before, now you roll over and wag your tail, do you?” she sneered. “You make me retch. As soon as you leave these shores we will be back a-hunting, mark my words.”

“Ah, so you'll wait until I'm gone before you begin hunting again? Thank you.”

Lady Herela's gloved hand twitched towards the sword at her side. Very deliberately, Sou Yuet turned their face away from her, and watched the members of the Hunt, and the necromancer, chase each other through the woods, a tumble of black cloth and fur and hair and barely tangible wisps.

“Once, my parents brought me some sweet butter biscuits¹The biscuits Sou Yuet is referring to are known as boortsog.. I'd never had anything like them,” the monk said suddenly.

“How lovely.”

“Yes, it was. Crunchy outside, soft as dew inside. Like baked clouds. They tasted so good that I thought... Well... It's my favourite memory of them.”

“Such nice parents.”

“I suppose they were. They tried, at least. They must have wanted me to have at least one good memory before they left.”

Lady Herela shuffled on her horse.

“So yes, I think they had some niceness in them. Some compassion. Or maybe it was guilt. In any case, they really were the tastiest things I've ever eaten.” Sou Yuet paused. “But I don't think I could ever eat one again.”

“Why are you telling this to me, monk?”

“Well, I think it's only fair.” Sou Yuet finally looked back at her. “If you take, you must give. That's what Si fu taught me. And so, since I want to take some of your suffering, your boredom, your loneliness, I must give something in return.”

Lady Herela laughed. It was a mournful, hollow sound that made Sou Yuet's eyes prickle.

“When we reach the shore, child, I will summon for you an aughisky to ferry you 'cross the sea.”

“Thank you.”

“An aughisky may carry you safely to shore, or it may eat you all up, save for your entrails. It may drown you, or protect you from the waves. And it will most certainly laugh at you while doing any of these things.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

Lady Herela nudged Melhih into a canter, leaving Sou Yuet behind. The Hunt streamed after her.

“Grand job there.”

“What do you mean?” Sou Yuet asked, as the necromancer lifted them up onto Sunny's back, despite being a little out of breath from chasing the Hunters.

“It's looking like we have a ride to Iriu now.”

“That's good.”

“... Yuet, if ye were hoping to stop the Hunt from... well, hunting...”

“No.” The monk shook their head, leaning forward into Sunny's broad back and closing their eyes. “I don't believe anyone would be capable of that. I just... wanted them to know about how others live.”

“They're dead.”

“Metaphorically speaking.”

“Perhaps... if it's you...”

“Hm?”

The necromancer turned a rare, full-hearted smile towards the monk. “I'm really looking forward to you and Mam meeting. What's wrong?”

“... Do you know if milkvetch grows around here?”

“What? Why? The hell's a milkvetch?”

“The root is good for chronic heart failure.”

“Huh? Who's having heart failure? Yuet, are ye okay?”

The Hunters kept moving, trying not to look back at the two idiots panicking behind them.