Pawl struggled to his feet, wincing as the interplay of muscles reopened the wounds on his back, then limped over to the flailing demon. His sword was still stuck in its bowels, so he unsheathed his hunting knife and plunged it through its skull. The demon twitched one last time, then began to melt like rancid lard. With a grimace of disgust, Pawl reclaimed his weapons and started to walk away.
Liselle followed. She wanted to congratulate him; thank him; grieve for his savaged back. But her jaw was broken and her tears were all dried up, so all she could do as was catch his hand and give it a feeble squeeze. He acknowledged the gesture with a phantom smile.
“Let’s go and find Lathwi,” he said.
They returned to the tree-line only to discover that the dragon’s blaze was now a full-fledged
