When the moment comes, she's ready. The inhuman, gargling shriek pierces the night like the voice of a dying thing - only it isn't. Dying. Not yet. It's just angry as it bursts free of its bounds, made all the more so as it's struck by yet another flaming bolt in its horrible roiling face.

"Come this way, sweet thing! Let me shoot that other ugly eye out."

And either the creature is intelligent enough to be infuriated, or its basic instinct is so plain that it can't help itself. It dives after her, all jagged edges and fetid stench. Run now, say her skin and bones. Instead, she sets and fires a second white fletched arrow. This one flies poorly thanks to its wire tether, but the range is so short that it's impossible to miss her target. In the moment the beast recoils, Fitcher does take off, the hiss of the wire unraveling at her side.