"Were we?" Ah yes, now that he mentions it she does remember that little note in the dossier. How far down the page was it? She can hardly recall. Perhaps she'll become distracted and forget that particular directive once more. "Well," she says, letting him guide her by the elbow. "These things happen."

The shriek of the transformed figure pierces the night. It's the hair raising sound of a hundred shears snapping closed, the snip-snap of of something terrible and sharp and unrelentingly dangerous. It strikes a terrorizing chord, the tang of fear jagged in the air about them. Then, from hilltop, the creature takes a deep snarling breath. A moment later it turns, and it's obvious when it looks in their direction. It's staring eyes glint in the darkness, two fine points in a face otherwise lost entirely to shadow.

"Ah," says Fitcher. She levels the hand crossbow and pulls its trigger a second time.