He will say this about having his stoic gothic murderer as a travelling companion - at least she’s quiet.

Once he’d gotten over the initial shock of resurrection and found some pants that fit, the dark woman had turned out to be a fairy he found he’d rather not take revenge upon. Instead he’d found a powerful ally, one who shared his hatred of Gwythr and even better, one who held two and three word conversations.

She’d stolen almost everything from his past (at least a shattered glass window of it) so there was no cause for sad tales of woe exchanged. She didn’t require commentary about the weather or the bland state of their survival rations. She didn’t make a fuss about walking miles over harsh terrain each day and having to camp with tree roots in her back each night. She was helpful with fire starting. In fact, by the night they’ve made camp at the edge of the Kingswood, she and Joel have formed a simple but effective communication based solely on eye contact and the subtle gestures of loud minds who appreciate external quiet. She cuts the paths through the swamps, knows he’s uncomfortable with water, and he takes over through the older, haunted places in Shaman so she can rest her senses and trust in his unfailing memory. Seasoned solo warriors forming a surprisingly organic partnership out of necessity.

Joel would almost say he appreciates having her along for the ride. Almost. His borrowed pants still don’t fit quite right. And this latest model of his body has developed allergies.

Elle, on the other hand, had gone ballistic from the moment of introduction.

"You’re inviting the faerie who SLAUGHTERED US on a cross country quest??" she’d shrieked, barking and snarly at Croe with raised hackles for the first several miles.

Joel rolled his eyes, knocking her out of the way with a knee. “Simmer down, we don’t stay dead. The enemy of my enemy is a friend. Now stop barking, you’re going to alert the whole of Shaman to our whereabouts.”

We need all the help we can get, he added privately. Aura and Mallos are MIA. Arthur is dead and the King is too young and his army even younger. What remains of Set-Merut is scattered to the winds. If I can’t win against the likes of her, there’s no way I can go up against a god on my own and hope to come out on top. We don’t have a choice.

Elle knew this. She is always privy to his justifications and flaws. It didn’t stop her from growling low in her chest every time Croe glances back at them over her shoulder.

Until Joel’s distant manner of respect for the woman had started to permeate the thinner places in the familiar’s grudge. She’d taken to peeking around his legs and through gaps in trees. Watching like a fuzzy shadow, her face clearly conflicted with some internal battle.

This final night of camp has her openly watching the dark woman across the fire’s glow, her brown eyes glinting as she tilts her head this way and that. Joel can feel the cogs of her mind turning furiously, but doesn’t delve too deeply. He learned long ago the muddled musings of women are dangerous footing to wade through. So he stomps down some pine boughs, waves a hand to summon down some cover from the lower branches to block the view of their modest camp and settles in to let his comrade take first watch. The trees here share no love of Gwythr nor his blight on this land and lean in tightly on their own volition. No enemy will bother their repose this night.

Stop drooling and staring at her, you dumb fuzzball. She’s gonna think you’re going to eat her.

"She’s cold," the Newfoundland insists. Her tail wags slowly as it did when she ponders things she ought not be pondering.

She’s not, she’s made of metal and fire. Trust me. She doesn’t need your slobbery ass suffocating her through the night.

But the dog only sniffs indignantly and pretends not to hear him. Later as the fire dimmed to embers, Joel, on the thin line of consciousness and sleep is vaguely aware of her creeping on tiptoe through the dark over to where the other fairy lay.

“No. Stay.”

Joel cracks an eyelid to see Elle freeze midstep, Croe’s finger pointed directly between her wide limpid eyes. He snickers, silently wishing the woman luck. His dog fully understands all commands and several languages. She just chose to ignore them. But the dark woman must have put some hypnosis into her command of “Go lay down,” because the Newfoundland slowly pivots to trot back over to her nest by a downed tree. What Croe doesn’t hear is Elle’s grumpy muttered plotting about how she’s going to snuggle that nasty cold woman if it’s the last thing she does.

Joel raises up on an elbow. “You might be the best fighter in Shaman, but not even you are going to be able to deflect my dog forever. Fair warning.”

He flops back, bracing his head with a hand and lets the fire’s crackle weave a comfortable silence as he thinks about tomorrow. They’ve journeyed dozens of miles for quarry that may not exist, much less be willing to entertain their patchy plan of god slaying.

“How will we know him? This fallen god? If he’s even here. Your spies have been...less than accurate lately.”

J o e l ;
You're trying to save me, stop holdin' your breath
And you think I'm crazy
Well that's nothing