The world spun around Emmett in slow, nauseating circles. The throb in his skull pulsed with each heartbeat, a deep, hammering ache that made him want to curl into the mud and disappear. His vision pulsed in and out of focus, the taste of blood and dirt mixing in his mouth as he lay facedown in the muck.

  The last few moments were a haze. A bullet grazed his skull, he fought with Eira, the thunderous crack of a rifle butt connecting with his skull. And now?

  His eye fluttered open sluggishly, vision swimming. He blinked hard, twice, then again, trying to force the world into clarity.

  Rope bit into his wrists, tied in a clumsy, hurried knot. That was something. He shifted slightly, testing the cords, wincing as his head throbbed in protest. He breathed in sharply through his nose, gritting his teeth against the pain.

  A sudden snarl, followed by a sharp yelp drew his attention.

  Emmett blinked again, forcing his eye toward the sound. Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head just enough to look left.

  Eira.

  The Russians had strung Eira against an overturned tree trunk, yanking her arms high and lashing her wrists to the wood with a course rope. Her arms strained against the bindings, her muscles tense with effort. She thrashed and snapped, her sharp teeth bared in fury. But two of the soldiers were holding her down, laughing as she thrashed, and tried to break free.

  The soldier with the pelt crouched before her, taking his time. He dragged the knife’s tip down the front of her uniform, the blade snagging, parting the fabric in a long, taunting tear. Revealing her white furred chest beneath. He suddenly stood and leaned in close to Eira, speaking to her in Russian with a cruel grin on his face. She snapped at him, her sharp teeth barely missing as he leaned back with a laugh and backhanded her across the muzzle.

  Emmett closed his eye as another wave of pain slammed into his skull like a hammer, making his vision blur. His jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated every damn second of it.

  If it were up to him, he might have let the Russians have her. Hell, he might’ve joined in, if only to put an end to the nonstop headache she’d been since he captured her. She was a thorn in his side, a constant reminder of how badly this mission had gone off the rails.

  But he had come this far, and he wasn’t about to face a Russian interrogation if he could help it.

  “I’m such an idiot.” He thought, resting his head back down.

  With a grunt, Emmett tested the limits of his restraints, ignoring the way the movement made his vision lurch. He slowly exhaled, and rolled over, on his side and lay limp. Keeping his eye shut. One of the Russians holding Eira, turned noticing the movement. He eyed Emmett and quickly turned his attention back to the hybrid as she jerked against him. He cursed and held her back down.

  Emmett remained still, heart pounding in his chest. Then, he began twisting his wrists, slowly working against the bindings. The cords bit into his skin. His movements were deliberate, controlled. The pain in his head spiked again, sending a flash of white through his vision, but he clenched his jaw and kept going.

  He couldn’t quite get his wrists free. He thought about trying to thread them under his legs to bring them around front. But the web-belt still strapped around his hips made him abandon the idea. Clenching his teeth, he bent his leg back slowly, and reached for his boot with numb, shaking fingers.

  Please still be there.

  With numb fingers, he patted around until he found it. His folding penknife, tucked into the seam of his boot. His heart thumped as he worked it loose, careful not to fumble. He flipped the blade open with a soft click, then brought it to the cord biting into his wrists. With short, sharp sawing motions, he began cutting. The blade bit into his skin once, but he didn’t flinch.

  The moment the cords gave way, Emmett let out a silent exhale of relief. He kept his arms behind his back, maintaining the illusion of restraint, and turned his focus to the Russians.

  Across from him, the soldier with the pelt yanked Eira’s tunic open, ripping the fabric wide with a loud tear. She roared in pure rage, thrashing like a wild animal. Another soldier stepped in and drove his fist hard into her stomach. She crumpled forward with a guttural choke, her breath knocked clean out of her. The surrounding soldiers howled with laughter, their voices harsh and cruel in the cold air.

  There were five soldiers in total. Two were holding Eira down. The one with the pelt tormented her, while the others stood nearby, laughing and egging him on. One had his rifle in his arms, watching with a sick grin, but to Emmett’s relief, the rest had slung theirs across their backs or leaned them lazily against the overturned log.

  Emmett’s hand tightened around the knife. His eye narrowed. He closed his eye. Took a breath. Then opened it just enough to still see. No one was watching him.

  He opened his mouth, his voice a rasp.

  "Water."

  No one reacted.

  He coughed, louder this time.

  “Water.”

  One of the soldiers turned, confused. He nudged another, and they briefly paused their cruel entertainment. The two holding Eira kept their grip tight, pinning her back as she breathed heavily. Her chest rising and falling rapidly.

  "Eh?" one grunted.

  Emmett groaned again, voice hoarse. “Water...”

  The man with the pelt muttered something sharp in Russian and jabbed a thumb toward Emmett. One of the younger soldiers. Barely more than a kid, sighed and set down his rifle, muttering curses as he trudged over.

  Eira caught Emmett’s eye. Her ears twitched, and for the briefest second, her expression changed. Not a plea. Not fear. Something sharper. Intent.

  She growled loudly, drawing attention back to herself. The man with the pelt laughed again and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back. He pressed the tip of his knife to her cheek, drawing a thin line of red across her fur.

  She whimpered involuntarily, the sound spurring another round of laughter.

  The young soldier, muttering, knelt beside Emmett, grabbing him by the collar. Emmett noticed that his own knife was unsheathed and carelessly tucked into the boys belt.

  The soldier said something in Russian, demanding something. Emmett didn’t catch it. The pounding in his head drowned out most of the words.

  “Water,” Emmett croaked again, letting his head lull forward like he could barely hold it up.

  The soldier grunted and turned over his shoulder, about to ask something when Emmett suddenly seized the young mans collar, and jammed the knife upward. The blade drove deep beneath the soldier’s jaw, piercing soft tissue and bone with a sickening crunch. The young man’s eyes went wide. He made a horrible gurgling noise as Emmett twisted the blade.

  The other soldiers jerked their heads towards the commotion. Their mouths dropped open in surprise as they began to react.

  Emmett exploded upward with a savage roar, slamming into the young soldier like a battering ram. The kid stumbled, arms windmilling, but Emmett was already moving. He snatched his knife from the boy’s belt and shoved him hard. A brutal, bone-jarring shove that launched him into the soldier with the pelt who had just turned around, sending him sprawling against Eira. His knife tumbling to the ground.

  She snapped her legs up like a sprung trap, locking them around his torso in one fluid motion. Eira twisted violently, using her weight and raw, feral strength to drag the pelted soldier down, snarling through her teeth like a cornered beast cursing in German. At the same time, the younger soldier dropped to the ground, eyes wide, clawing at his throat as blood bubbled from his mouth.

  Emmett didn’t hesitate. He charged the soldier to the right of Eira who had just released her and was reaching for his rifle. Emmett slamming into him with his full weight and driving him sideways into the log beside her. The man let out a surprised grunt as his back cracked against the rough bark, momentarily stunned by the impact.

  Eira seized the moment. With a vicious snarl, she shoved the man still holding her, then surged forward and sank her teeth deep into the man’s neck. The man screamed, high and shrill, flailing and striking at her in a blind panic as blood poured from the wound.

  Emmett slammed the man’s head into the log and drove the knife deep into his chest. He twisted hard, felt the blade tear through tissue and bone, then yanked it free.

  Suddenly, white-hot pain lanced through his shoulder. His left arm went numb.

  He reeled back against the log, catching himself just in time to see another soldier. Rage in his eyes, raising the butt of a rifle for another blow. Emmett started to lunge forward.

  But something yanked him back.

  A hand. Clutching his knife arm.

  He turned, eyes wild.

  It was the man he’d just stabbed. Blood poured down his chest, but his bearded face was twisted in agony and white-hot fury. He clung to Emmett’s arm with everything he had, teeth bared in a silent snarl.

  Emmett twisted at the last second as the rifle butt slammed into his hip. Pain exploded down his side and he let out a sharp, guttural cry, staggering under the blow.

  Emmett snarled and drove his fist into the bearded man's chest, in desperation. He shrieked as Emmett struck the stab wound, and the man crumpled with a sickening wheeze, his moan dissolving into a wet gurgle as blood bubbled up and soaked through his tunic.

  The man with the rifle whipped his barrel around and leveled it at Emmett. Emmett’s eyes widened and he lunged, grabbing the muzzle and yanking it aside just as the weapon fired. The crack of the shot was deafening, and the round slammed into the log inches from his head, showering bark and splinters. Before Emmett could react again, the soldier surged forward, ramming his full weight into him and slamming Emmett against the log.

  Emmett gritted his teeth, struggling to keep the barrel from crushing his windpipe. With a growl, he jerked the knife up and slashed deep into the man's forearm. The soldier howled, dropping the rifle as blood splattered across Emmett’s chest. Snarling in rage, the man seized Emmett’s wrist and slammed it against the log, trying to force him to release the blade.

  Emmett brought his elbow up and slammed it into the junction between the man's neck and shoulder. The soldier cried out and staggered back a step, but only for a moment. With a snarl, he surged forward again, slipping behind Emmett and wrapping his arms around his neck. With a violent yank, he dragged Emmett sideways and slammed him into Eira. The impact almost knocking the wind from him.

  The man Eira had latched onto wailed, and suddenly drove a thumb into her eye. Pain exploded behind her eyelid, and she shrieked, instinctively recoiling. The sudden assault forced her to release the pelted soldier she had trapped with her legs, the strength in her grip faltering. As she pulled back, the man she’d bitten stumbled away, pale and shaking, one hand clamped over the bloody wound in his neck.

  The soldier with the pelt, stumbled over the now still young man at his feet, and was half-crawling forward. Scrambled across the dirt and snow toward Emmett’s Grease Gun that rested on his pack.

  Emmett’s eye met Eira’s. Despite everything, she looked back with iron resolve.

  “Gawd damn it,” he thought.

  He slashed upward, severing the rope above her. Her wrists were still bound together, but she was free enough.

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  With a feral growl, Eira lunged at the wounded man she’d bitten. He had just reached for a Mosin Nagant propped against the log when she tackled him, bringing him down hard into the snow. Her bound hands rose as one and came crashing down like a hammer onto his face. Bone crunched, then she grabbed his collar, pulled him close and clamped her sharp teeth around his neck tearing at the already ruined flesh.

  Emmett shoved off the log with a roar, heaving backward. He and the man choking him stumbled a few feet before crashing to the ground in a violent tangle. Emmett jabbed backward again and again, each knife strike wild, savage, desperate to land. The soldier clung on with a vice grip, his forearm locked around Emmett’s throat, face red and contorted with effort as he cursed through clenched teeth.

  Emmett saw movement. Staggering, limping. The bearded soldier he’d stabbed, had risen to his feet. Wheezing, bloodied, face ghost-pale. One hand clutched his chest, pressing against the gaping wound. The other held a knife, trembling with rage. He looked barely alive, but his eyes burned with fury, and he was coming straight for Emmett.

  Emmett let out a feral snarl and snapped his leg upward, his boot slamming into the soldier’s groin with brutal force. The man let out a strangled wheeze, eyes bulging as he crumpled to his knees, mouth open in a silent, agonized scream.

  Emmett laughed. A breathless, manic sound. He twisted, brought the knife back again, and felt it pierce something soft. The man beneath Emmett gasped in pain and tried to reassert his grip, reaching around and clamping his hand over Emmett’s mouth.

  Emmett responded like an animal, biting down.

  Hard.

  His teeth sank between the joints of the man’s thumb. He felt flesh split, and he tasted blood.

  The soldier screamed, holding his mangled hand in front of his face in shock.

  Emmett rolled violently, spitting the thumb out of his mouth, and leapt onto him, seizing him by the throat, knife raised.

  The double-edged blade came down once. Twice. Blood spattered. His head thundered with every heartbeat, vision doubling, but he kept going.

  A third stab. Fourth.

  Emmett paused when he heard a furious shout, and he looked up.

  The soldier with the pelt had Emmett’s Grease Gun. He aimed. His finger squeezed the trigger…

  Click.

  Nothing.

  His eyes went wide.

  Emmett grinned seeing the weapons dust cover was still closed, rendering it safe.

  Emmett began to rise as the man desperately began fumbling with the weapon.

  But Eira struck first.

  She hit him like a freight train, grabbing him with her bound hands. With horrifying strength, she spun and hurled him backward.

  He slammed into the same log she had been tied to. The Grease Gun clattered to the snow.

  Another movement. The bearded soldier, Emmett had kicked now dragged himself toward a Mosin laying in the snow. His hand reached for the barrel…

  A boot crashed into his spine.

  Clawed fingers wrapped around his head. Eira forced his face down onto the wooden stock. Once. Twice.

  The man groaned, barely conscious.

  She stomped on his back. Lifted her bound wrists and wedged them into the base of his neck.

  And yanked back.

  A sickening crack echoed through the clearing.

  The man slumped motionless.

  Emmett rose to his feet, swaying, vision swimming. His head turned just in time to see the soldier with the pelt charging, a hatchet raised high.

  Emmett dodged the wild swing and seized the man’s wrist, twisting hard. The hatchet dropped.

  Emmett stepped in and rammed his knife into the man’s gut and left it there.

  The soldier gasped, blood pouring out as his legs shook.

  Emmett kneed him hard in the crotch and yanked him down by the collar.

  “Here I fucking am!” Emmett roared in his face. His voice was hoarse, cracked.

  THWACK! He threw his fist and it crushed into the soldier’s cheekbone.

  “In the middle of a goddamn warzone!”

  THWACK! Another blow snapped the man’s head the other way.

  “Trying to keep that goddamn animal alive, and she won’t stop trying to kill me!

  THWACK! The man’s body sagged.

  “And you fucking idiots shoot and beat me!” Emmett snarled.

  Blood poured from both of them.

  “You can say I’ve been having a really shitty week.”

  With one final heave, Emmett ripped the knife from the soldier’s gut and pressed the edge against the man’s throat. He dragged it slowly across the soft skin. Blood fountained out. The man eyes widened in shock as he weakly tried to grab at Emmett’s hand.

  Emmett drew it across until a second mouth opened in the man’s neck. Blood soaking his chest, and the dirty snow.

  The Russian crumpled to the dirt, twitching.

  Emmett staggered back, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His vision blurred, but he stayed upright long enough to watch the soldier’s body fall still.

  He managed to slip his knife back into its sheath before he dropped to his knees, his head hanging low. Blood streaked his face and hands, mixing with the dirt beneath him. He let out a strained chuckle, bitter and hollow.

  “Everything.” He muttered, his voice barely audible, “Is so gawd damn fucked.”

  Emmett’s eye snapped up as he heard movement.

  Eira was fumbling at a fallen soldier’s belt, her bound hands struggling to work the clasp of his knife sheath. Her chest heaved, blood soaking into the pale fur at her chest and muzzle which was curled in a feral snarl. She locked eyes with Emmett.

  Time froze.

  For a single, drawn-out moment, neither moved. They stared. bloodied, bruised, while steam rose from the fresh corpses littering the snow. Her sharp blue eyes flicked to the side, landing on a rifle half-buried in the frost. Emmett’s gaze followed, then snapped to where Emmett’s bag rested against the nearby log.

  His 1911 rested ontop of it.

  He lunged.

  His hand seized the grip, and he swung the pistol up, leveling it with a single, fluid motion.

  Eira had the rifle in her hands. Her bound wrists clumsily holding it, the barrel still buried in the snow. As she looked up and saw Emmett’s pistol leveled at her, she froze.

  They locked eye’s again.

  Both panting, blood-spattered, wild-eyed.

  The air between them crackled.

  “I hate you so damn much,” Emmett growled. His voice was a ragged rasp, soaked in exhaustion and fury.

  Eira tilted her head just slightly. Her ears twitched, forward and alert. Her lip curled back. Not a smile. Not quite. More like a silent snarl. She slowly began lifting the weapon off the ground.

  Emmett’s finger curled against the trigger.

  CRACK!

  CRACK!

  Gunshots shattered the silence.

  Dirt and snow exploded at their feet.

  They both jerked around, eyes snapping wide as shouting Russian voices echoed through the trees.

  Another patrol was running towards them.

  “Son of a...” Emmett hissed, spinning.

  Eira was already on her feet, the rifle clutched awkwardly in her bound hands as she bolted.

  Emmett holstered the 1911 without a second thought, scooped up the Grease Gun from where it had fallen, and snapped open the dust cover.

  He pivoted, dropped to a crouch, and opened fire into the woods.

  BRRRT!

  A short burst of lead tore into the woods. Branches splintered. Some of the Russians found cover, and someone screamed.

  Emmett crab-walked back, covering Eira as she ran. Then he turned and sprinted. Managing to snag the strap of his bag throwing it over his shoulder.

  “Shit!” he spat, heart hammering in his ears. His legs screamed in protest, his lungs burned, and his head felt like it might burst from the pressure.

  Eira nearly lost her footing on a root, stumbling, the rifle tumbling from her hands. Her claws digging into the frozen ground.

  “Move!” Emmett roared, his voice cutting through the gunfire and chaos. He grabbed her by the shoulder, hauling her to her feet. She briefly hesitated for the lost rifle but stumbled after Emmett as he pulled her along.

  Shots rang out behind them, growing louder, angrier.

  The forest lit up with the chase.

  Emmett’s face was a mess. Blood streaked the left side, running down from the gash near his temple. His remaining eye was half-closed, a clear sign that he was nearing his limit. But he didn’t slow down.

  “Keep running!” He snarled, his voice strained.

  They crashed through the underbrush, the shouts of Russian soldiers growing louder behind them. Eira’s sharp ears twitched, picking up the faint sound of rushing water. She suddenly slowed. Emmett shoved against her, but she turned to him, her eyes wide.

  “listen!” She hissed.

  Emmett grunted, his head snapping toward her. That’s when he heard it too. The unmistakable roar of a river.

  They broke into a run, bursting through the tree line, skidding to a halt at the precipice of a cliff. Below them, a raging river churned violently, the icy water crashing against jagged rocks.

  “Well, gawd dammit.” Emmett groaned, leaning forward slightly as he caught his breath.

  Eira glanced over the edge, her sharp eyes narrowing as she muttered a string of curses in German. The sound of rifle shots brought them both back to the present.

  They exchanged a look, the tension between them momentarily forgotten as they realized they had no other choice.

  “This is foolish.” Eira muttered, glancing back at the treeline where their pursuers were closing in.

  “Yeah? No shit,” Emmett growled, shouldering his pack.

  Another shot cracked through the air, splintering the bark of a nearby tree. They didn’t need to say anything else.

  “On three.” Emmett said, gripping her arm tightly.

  Eira nodded reluctantly, her ears flattening against her head.

  “One,” he started, his voice steady despite the chaos.

  “Two.”

  They never made it to three.

  They leapt simultaneously, the wind ripping past them as they plummeted toward the river below.

  “Fuuuuuuuuuck!” Emmett roared, his voice echoing over the roar of the water.

  Eira clenched her jaw, bracing for impact as the icy water swallowed them both. The shock of the cold was immediate and all-consuming, dragging them under with a force that felt unstoppable.

  The river’s current tore at them, and for a moment, Eira couldn’t tell which way was up. She kicked her legs, her bound wrists making it nearly impossible to swim.

  Eira broke the surface of the freezing water first, her sharp gasp for air muffled by the roar of the current. Her legs kicked furiously, her bound wrists thrashing in front of her as she fought to stay afloat. The icy river surged around her, relentless in its effort to drag her under.

  Emmett surfaced a moment later, his arms flailing as he clawed at the water. His face was pale, his one good eye wide with desperation as he tried to keep his head above the surface. The river swept them along mercilessly, tossing them like leaves in a storm.

  Eira’s sharp teeth found the ropes binding her wrists. She bit down, pulling at the coarse material with a feral determination. Her jaw ached, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she alternated between biting and kicking. After what felt like an eternity, the ropes finally gave way, and her hands sprang free.

  She looked around wildly, her ears flat against her head as she spotted Emmett struggling to swim toward her. His strokes were unsteady, his movements sluggish, but he managed to reach her. His hand latched onto her shoulder, his grip firm despite his obvious exhaustion.

  “I swear…” He began, his voice strained, but whatever he was about to say was cut off as the current slammed them into a jagged rock.

  The impact drove the air from Eira’s lungs, and she let out a sharp, pained gasp. Her vision blurred for a moment as the shock of the blow reverberated through her body.

  She turned her head just in time to see Emmett’s eye roll back into his head. His grip on her shoulder slackened, and he disappeared beneath the churning water.

  For a brief, tantalizing moment, Eira considered letting him drown. She could feel the river pulling at her, the cold sapping her strength, and saving him felt like an unnecessary risk.

  But in a strange way he had saved her…

  With a growl of frustration, she dove beneath the surface, her sharp eyes scanning the murky water. She spotted him almost immediately, his body limp as the current dragged him further downriver. She lunged forward, her claws catching the strap of his web gear.

  With a powerful kick, she surged back to the surface, dragging Emmett with her. The freezing air hit her face, and she gasped, coughing and sputtering as she fought to keep them both above water.

  “Verdammt.” She growled through gritted teeth, her legs burning as she fought the current.

  The river tossed them mercilessly, slamming them against debris and dragging them further downstream. Eira’s muscles screamed in protest, as she kicked furiously to stay above the surface. She focused every ounce of her strength on moving toward the distant shore, her sharp claws digging into the water with each stroke.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her feet found purchase on the rocky riverbed. With a desperate burst of energy, she hauled herself and Emmett onto the shore, collapsing onto the cold, gravelly bank.

  She knelt over him, her body trembling from the cold and exertion. Emmett coughed violently, water sputtering from his lips as his eye flickered open.

  Eira locked eyes with him, her teeth bared in a furious snarl.

  “You saved me, and I saved you.” She growled, her voice low and menacing.

  Her clawed hand shot out, grabbing the front of his collar and yanking him close. For a moment, she seriously considered tearing his throat out, ending this nightmare once and for all. Instead, she leaned in close, her voice like ice.

  “We will never cross paths again.” She hissed.

  Emmett coughed weakly, a faint, almost amused chuckle escaping his lips. His body was battered, his face pale, but his good eye glinted with a flicker of mischief.

  “Eira.” He rasped, his voice barely audible.

  She raised an eyebrow, her ears twitching slightly.

  Before she could respond, Emmett’s hand moved with surprising speed. She felt a sharp sting in her neck and as her hand grasped, she felt a dart sticking out from her fur.

  Her blue eyes widened in shock as she turned her gaze back to him.

  “Arschloch!” She spat in German, her voice venomous. She suddenly slammed Emmett into the gravel and wrapped her powerful hands around his neck and squeezed with every ounce of strength she had.

  Emmett mouth hung open. His hand reached up trying to grab her face, while the other tried to pry her grip on his windpipe.

  As she squeezed, her teeth gritted. She began to feel the tranquilizer start to take effect. Her vision began to blur, and she heard her heartbeat as everything else began to fade out.

  She couldn’t let him win.

  Not again.

  Not after everything.

  Why did she save him?

  Why hadn’t she let the bastard drown?

  Her vision swam, her limbs growing heavier by the second, but rage carried her further.

  She looked at his face, and she remembered something.

  One hand stayed locked around his throat, squeezing with primal fury. With the other, she reached shakily toward his face. Toward that last defiant green eye.

  She extended a single finger.

  Emmett’s face twisted. Not just in pain, but in real fear. That single eye widened as her nail came closer, trembling from the effort. She smiled. Teeth bared, lips curled in triumph. Finally, she thought.

  But her muscles betrayed her. Her hand slowed.

  Everything was tilting, spinning, collapsing inward. Her chest heaved, vision narrowing to a pinpoint as the tranquilizer surged through her bloodstream. The growl in her throat faded to a soft gasp.

  And then, like a puppet with its strings cut, she crumpled. Her body pitched sideways, landing in the gravel with a dull thud, her breath slowing to a shallow whisper.

  Emmett wheezed.

  His hand shot to his throat, clawing at the bruises she’d left. His chest heaved as he sucked in desperate gulps of frigid air, each breath scraping his lungs like broken glass.

  He coughed, spat blood and bile onto the rocky shore, and rolled onto his back, his body trembling with pain and exhaustion. His throat throbbed, already purpling, and his fingers still twitched reflexively from the panic of nearly being choked to death. And almost loosing his remaining eye.

  He stared up at the gray, cloud-cloaked sky. Barely visible through his watering eye. And he laughed. A broken, breathless sound. Bitter as bile.

  “God…” he rasped, his voice no louder than a groan, “must be having one hell of a laugh right now.”

  He coughed again, harder this time, and winced as pain lanced through his ribs. The adrenaline was leaving him now. Fading fast, and what remained was agony. The freezing cold, and a throat that burned.

  “Someone…” he whispered, voice cracking. “Someone just kill me already.”

  The river roared beside them, indifferent and relentless, carving its path through the land as it always had. And there they lay. Two savage survivors, beaten, bloodied, and half-drowned, side by side.

  -SABLE