“The End,” Alice’s grandma finished telling her the goodnight story.
What story, you may be wondering? It was the story of a family meeting a skinwalker in the woods near their home and fighting it off.
Yeah, a very typical goodnight story that definitely wouldn’t give nightmares to a child. Well, it certainly wouldn’t give little Alice any bad dreams: she’d grown up with these stories, and her beloved granny knew exactly how to tell them in a way that wouldn’t scare too much. And, unlike most stories these days, these contained kernels of truth and lots of lessons to be learnt.
“Goodnight dear,” she said, caressing Alice’s hair and kissing her on the forehead.
“Goodnight nonna,” she mumbled in answer, kissing her back and snuggling in her sleeping bag.
As always, though, her grandma didn’t lie down beside her and fall asleep. She stood from her position at her side and walked out of the tent, the old fabric parting for her and falling back in place with a gentle whisper.
This always saddened her a little: she liked to fall asleep while her grandma embraced her. But grandma never went to sleep when they were camping in the mountains. She always stayed up late, and she’d never managed to stay awake long enough to see when she actually went to sleep. She’d long since given up.
That night wasn’t any different.
Except when things changed.
At some point during the night she woke up. Initially, she didn’t know what was up with her: she was a heavy sleeper.
She opened her eyes, rubbing the sleep out of them. For some reason she felt refreshed even though she hadn’t slept that much, seeing how grandma still hadn’t joined her: the sleeping bag was still unopened.
Then she heard something from outside: voices. One was distinctly her grandma talking. The other, though, was deeper. A man. Who was he?
She rose from her sleeping bag and walked towards the tent flap, her desire to peek out overwhelming her. Grandma had always told her to stay in the tent unless told otherwise, no matter what happened. But she was a child and, as all children, she was extremely curious.
Only, this time, her curiosity wouldn’t be sated, because when she went to move the tent flap out of the way, she found the buttons had been latched, not letting her open it up.
The voices both stopped when the tent flap moved.
Then: “Alice, dear, go back to sleep. There is nothing to worry about.”
But then she heard the other voice whisper darkly: “Why not let her join us, healer? She will be your successor, after all.”
“She will be nothing she doesn’t want to be. I will not force on her this world,” hissed her grandma in actual anger. That, more than anything, convinced her to turn back and hide inside her sleeping bag, drowning out the rest of the conversation.
----------------------------------------
Alice returned to the camp after leaving some of the food they’d prepared outside, among the trees. Also, to take care of some ‘business’.
Remember Alice, nature is the world’s biggest toilet. It even has toilet paper if you’re willing to risk it, said her grandma in her mind. She’d once actually risked it, and had felt itchy for the rest of their stay in the woods. She’d also been quite angry when she’d found out that grandma had taken some toilet paper from home and refused to give it to her, saying it would be a learning experience. The woman could be a demon when she wanted to.
“Done?” asked Averick.
She nodded: “You can go to sleep. I’ll stay up for a while longer, keep the fire burning, look at the stars, you know.”
“You sure?”
“Av, I’m trying to very nicely tell you that I’m a godsdamned insomniac and won’t be falling asleep anytime soon,” she glared at him, and managed to hold the expression for all of five seconds before she burst out laughing.
“Don’t you have that Skill, [Fall Asleep]?”
“Yeah, I did. Used it last night to be fresh and ready for today. The Skill apparently has a twenty four hour cooldown, so I’ll have to wait a while longer.”
“Understood,” he turned around towards his tent, an orange monstrosity that was a literal punch in the eye in this beautiful forest. Alice’s own tent was dark green, which she considered to be better.
As he opened the flap, he hesitated.
“Don’t you want me to keep you company?”
Alice looked back at him, confused: “Haven’t you had enough of my ribbing for the day? Don’t worry, you’ll have the whole of tomorrow to spend with me. Go to sleep, you’ll need the energy,” she smiled reassuringly, and Averick sighed and nodded.
Why was it so difficult with her?
----------------------------------------
“Grandma, who were you speaking with yesterday night?”
They were going back to Limoni, the city where her grandma lived. As the name said, it was filled with lemon trees.
“Oh, that? Just… an old acquaintance of mine.”
“Was he one of your friends?”
Grandma laughed when she asked that: “Gods no. He’s a nuisance and has been a pain in my ass for decades. But, you could say he’s something close to a friend after so long.”
Alice nodded: “Were you talking about me?”
At that, grandma fell into a thoughtful silence. She didn’t answer for a long minute and Alice was already thinking this was one of those ‘not-answering-that-’till-you’re-older’ questions.
Then: “Alice, tell me, do you like spending time with me? Doing things with me? With plants and old traditions and stories?”
“Yes!” Alice answered immediately, without even thinking, “I love your stories nonna, I love the faeries, the monsters, the gnomes and dwarves and everything! I love the plants you show me, even the ones that are bad. I love you!”
She wasn’t lying.
“And would you like to do these things all your life Alice?”
The tone of her voice was serious, which meant Alice was supposed to think before she answered, even if the answer seemed obvious to her.
So she faked thinking. She was a good girl, but sometimes she found the things grandma told her to do strange and stupid.
“Yes, I would like that.”
Grandma nodded: “In that case, one day, you’ll meet my ‘friend’,” she did little air quotes with her fingers, “again yourself. When you’re older.”
----------------------------------------
Alice, as usual, couldn’t sleep. The fact she’d gotten a Skill that allowed her to arbitrarily fall asleep seemed to have exacerbated her insomnia, but she was used to sleepless nights, and she’d only have to wait, like, two more hours before her Skill went off cooldown.
Really, this world was like a big video-game. Some kind of ungodly Larp.
Whatever it was, she didn’t give a flying fuck, because this world was made for her!
She just looked up and enjoyed the stars, reassured by the health potion nearby that her neck wouldn’t get sore.
And that way she remained until she heard someone shouting: “Help! Anybody here?”
----------------------------------------
“Thank you again Madame. I was completely lost. You saved me a helicopter ride and thousands of liras in expenses,” said the hiker as, for the umpteenth time, he shook grandma’s hand, thanking her.
“It was no problem, young lad. Next time though, make sure to follow the trails. The Alps may be kinder than most mountains, but mountains they remain,” she smiled kindly, reassuring the young boy that everything was alright.
The boy, whose name Alice had already forgotten, turned and left.
When he was well away, grandma sighed and smiled bitterly.
Alice, being the attentive kid she was, stepped closer and hugged her: “Why are you said nonna?”
Her grandma chuckled: “Oh dear, I’m not sad, just nostalgic.”
“...What is nostalgic?”
Her grandma laughed this time, hugging her back: “It’s a thing old people get.”
“Like a disease?”
“Yes, but worse, because there’s no cure. It’s when you remember something from your past and feel both happy and sad about it. Don’t worry about it,”
“Ok.”
They began walking back towards Limoni. Alice was absolutely ready for a warm bath, or so her grandma said. She didn’t feel that dirty. Sure, she wasn’t a rose, but so what? Also, roses didn’t smell that good.
“Grandma, what did you remember?” she asked in the end, because the silence was stretching for too long.
Her grandma gave her the side eye, then chuckled and shook her head: “Oh, I just remembered how things were a lot more different once upon a time. Used to be you’d have to sneak up on people calling for help, look if they were enemy soldiers, or stranger things still. Nowadays the mountains are much safer than they used to be.”
She sighed, this time much deeper: “People are forgetting the old ways, little Alice. I may very well be the last one. Or one day you’ll be the last. It will all be your choice.”
Alice nodded: “And what will happen if you forget?”
Grandma smiled: “That will not happen Alice. But, in the impossible case that I did, well, I guess nothing will happen ever again. The mountains will be just that, mountains.”
That didn’t make a lot of sense to Alice, but grandma said many things that didn’t make a lot of sense, so it was normal. She liked it.
“But, in any case, listen here Alice: if ever you hear someone asking for help in the woods or in the mountains, especially near trees like pines or elder or elm, be very careful. And do as I say.”
Alice listened.
----------------------------------------
“Help! Anybody, help!”
The voice came from the treeline to her right. Not where the pines were, luckily.
Still, she froze as old lessons taught to her from her childhood came back to her in a moment. Her body’s muscles tensed and asked her to stand up and call back, to shout she was here, to go help. An animalistic instinct of solidarity.
She suppressed it with a vengeance, relaxing her legs and sitting a bit more upright. She fished around in the side of her backpack and took out a dagger she’d found in her home. It was made of steel and was definitely older than her. No silver, sadly, but she’d have to do for now. Age still counted for something.
Averick poked his head out of his tent: “Did I hear that right?”
“HELP!”
Immediately the boy walked out of the tent: “Where is it coming from?”
“It doesn’t matter. Go back in the tent Av,” was Alice’s answer.
Averick froze at Alice’s frosty tone (pun not intended). She looked more serious than he’d ever seen her since… since they’d met.
Sure, there was that time when he’d found her wasted in her home after she’d tried to fall asleep in drunken oblivion, but even then there had been desperation mixed in with that anger.
Now he could see nothing but determination and attentiveness.
He knew he should’ve asked her why she was acting like this. He knew he should’ve run towards where the voice was coming from, but there was something in her eyes that was telling him to stay put and go back in his tent.
He did only half of that.
He sat down on a rock near Alice and looked at the trees around them.
“HELP!!!”
The voice sounded closer. And desperate.
Then, finally, someone burst out of the treeline, shouting and running towards them.
“Please! Help me! It’s following me!”
If the situation had been different in any way Alice would’ve laughed from how cliché this sounded. But she knew better. She’d been proven that earlier that day, in the pines. The traditions of her home could protect her. And maybe, just maybe, some of the stories she knew were true.
When the young boy, who was probably no older than fifteen by the looks of it, came near the camp and the protections she’d set up, she shouted: “Stop right where you stand stranger! What is your name?”
“The boy, who’d been running towards them, screeched (quite literally, Alice was sure she heard the earth under his feet actually make a sound) to a stop. He stared at her with wide eyes filled with panic.
“Please Miss, help me! That thing, it’s following me!” he pointed towards the treeline, but she could see nothing.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“What’s your name?” she repeated, her voice a knife’s edge, cutting right through the young boy’s fear.
He turned towards her: “My name is Collins, miss. Please, can I stay in your camp?”
He tried to step closer, but stopped short when he saw Alice’s eyes staring right at him.
“Collins then. Good. Would you kindly cut your hand for me?” she stood and offered him the dagger she’d just unsheathed.
“Ali-”
“Don’t say my name. Nor yours. Not for now. Shut the fuck up,” she told him without even turning around, her voice even colder.
Averick closed his mouth. Who was this woman he was looking at? This wasn’t the Alice he knew.
“Please Mi-”
“Show me how you bleed boy, then we’ll speak. Don’t worry, there’s a healing potion with your name on it right here,” she tapped the glass vial on her side.
Collins hesitated, then, clearly desperate, took the dagger she was offering him, right at the middle point between her camp and the woods outside.
He didn’t even hesitate a moment, bringing the blade to his hand and cutting. Deep.
Alice looked, making sure the light from the fire’s flames bathed the boy’s hand. She looked at the blood.
And saw it was dark red. Absolutely normal.
“Come join us Collins. Nothing will hurt you tonight. Lucky boy,” she smiled as she pulled the boy nearer, taking the knife from his shaking hand and handing over the vial of healing potion.
“Are you hungry? We still have some food. You can sleep with my friend here tonight in his tent, but I’m afraid we can only give you some blankets to sleep with.”
The boy, Collins, looked shell shocked. Averick too, by the looks of it.
Which was understandable, seeing how Alice’s mood had changed from ‘queen of winter getting a snow enema’ to ‘summer sprite who’d just granted your wish without any monkey-paw-bullshittery’.
“Th-thank you, miss!”
“It’s… never mind the names for now. Come, sit down, eat,” she patted a rock near the fire, “and tell me what’s after you.”
The boy sat down, trembling with adrenaline, heartbeat so fast and loud Alice could’ve sword she heard it from where she sat. He took the bowl she was offering him as he breathed in and out, warming his weary bones by the fire, reveling in the presence of other humans.
It took Alice a few minutes and a few bites of food to get the boy to speak.
“I - I don’t know what was after me, but it whispered, and I could smell it from a distance. Like a dead body.”
“A zombie?” asked Averick.
The boy shook his head: “Undead don’t last in these mountains. The other monsters and animals get rid of them. And they cannot speak.”
“Then what-” started Averick, only for Alice to chop the air in front of him with her open hand, silently telling him to stop.
She turned back to Collins, smiling: “Collins, tell me: how did you meet this thing?”
The boy was raising a spoonful of food to his mouth, but he stopped when she asked him the question, putting it down because his hands had started shaking too much.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, don’t worry. You’re safe here with us,” she reassured him, a warm hand grasping his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze.
Collins nodded, then went back to eating.
She tried asking him again and again if he wanted to explain what had happened, but every time he just stopped. He was, she found out, twelve. Bit on the tall side, but only twelve. That, more than anything, convinced her of how much he was traumatized by whatever had happened.
“Are there people nearby? A town? Anything?” she asked.
Collins nodded: “There’s the village I come from. It’s called Oldson. They’re higher up though, and I couldn’t find the trail after I started running.”
Alice sighed: “You shouldn’t have gone out this close to nighttime. It’s dangerous.”
Collins gave her a look that shouted ‘no shit Sherlock’, and she chuckled: “Sorry sorry, it’s obvious, and you probably had your own reasons, however good they may have been.”
Collins looked back at his empty plate: “I was gathering herbs for the elders. They’d said they were at their most… powerful? Something like that, at night, when there’s the new moon. I wanted to be useful.”
“And didn’t they tell you it would be dangerous?”
Collins’ answer was only a nod.
Alice sighed: “You, boy, are one of the luckiest people on this planet, you know that right?”
Collins nodded: “I - I’ll find a way to repay you, I swear.”
“Oh, you’ll do just that tomorrow by leading us to your village. I do think runner here needs a bath. He smells,” she stopped her nose up and shook her hand in front of it, as if a sudden cloud of smelly smoke had moved towards her.
“Hey, fuck you!”
They stared at each other a moment, then snorted, and laughed.
The atmosphere in the clearing immediately lightened. Collins even managed to smile.
----------------------------------------
Half an hour later Collins had been tucked away safely in Averick’s sleeping bag. He was already snoring lightly.
“You sure? I can stay up with you.”
“Don’t worry. This is my field of expertise. Go to sleep, keep Collins company.
“And, no matter what, don’t come out of that tent, alright?”
He sighed, but in the end nodded: “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Who? Me?”
Averick looked at her with raised eyebrows: “Should I start listing your idiocies, starting from the time you burned down the hut in the back of your house?”
Alice clicked her tongue: “Nope! Message received, don’t be an idiot!”
Averick nodded, walking back in his tent.
When she was sure he was back in his covers, she turned towards the dark woods.
“You may come out, observer from the shadows.”
Nothing happened for a moment. The woods didn’t shut up, there was no sound of breaking branches or thumping of giant feet.
But she knew it was there. She had felt it, deep in her bones, in the instincts grandma had drilled in her since her childhood. Something was there, staring right at her, unmoving, breathing as little as possible, with no heart whatsoever beating in its chest.
Something moved.
A dark figure, wearing an old, ruined, cloak. In one hand it held a big stick it was using for leverage, in the other it held a ruined rucksack.
From this distance it looked like any other traveler she could’ve met on the mountains. An unassuming old man she wouldn’t have given a second look. That is, under the light of the sun. But here, now, when the moon didn’t shine its light of truth upon the world, she could feel that something wasn’t right.
The figure approached. It raised the hand with the walking stick in greeting.
She raised her own.
“Splendid night to you, young lady,” it said. Its voice was mellifluous, like honey being drizzled over warm meat, sizzling and inviting.
But, underneath, she could smell the rot. Literally. The moment the thing spoke she smelled rotting flesh.
“Good night to you, traveler. How may I be of service to you in this dark night?”
The man-thing stopped right at the boundary between her camp and the woods outside, not daring to take a single step more.
“Ah, well, I wouldn’t mind joining you by that warm fire, miss. I am, sadly, without food, but I carry good coin that should repay anything given.”
“Hmmm, that sounds like a good deal, old sir,” she started.
In her mind, her grandma’s voice whispered: Always show respect. They may be monsters, or worse, but they are much older than you. That, alone, makes them worthy of some respect.
“But, before I let you in, may I ask: what is your name?”
The old-man-thing inclined its head: “That is an important question you ask, miss, on a night like this. Would you kindly answer it first?”
“You may call me Garda,” she answered without missing a beat, doing a little curtsy.
The thing nodded: “Then you may call me Rayspin.”
Alice blinked: “Isn’t that the name of this month?”
“It is my name as much as yours is Garda, miss.”
“Fair enough,” she smiled, taking her dagger in her hand.
“Then, would you mind showing me how you bleed, sir Rayspin?”
At that, the thing stiffened a little: “Why should I do that, miss? Surely that goes against the rules of hospitality.”
“Oh, it’s nothing really sir. You see, I really dislike royalty. Blue blooded bastards do nothing to help us normal people. We’re nothing but numbers to them. And I wouldn’t like to have a noble spend the night with me and my own. I hope it’s not a problem, sir,” she took the knife by the blade and let the handle pass through the boundary between the camp and outside.
A boundary set by four jars, positioned at cardinal points of the camp, forming a perfect square around them. The jars contained, each, three nails taken from the walls of her home. The home she had claimed for herself, the home that had been given to her freely by both its creator and the mayor, the person with most power in the city of Gunsee. The home where she had lived for these past few months, spending more or less sleepless nights, cooking, living it and in it. Something hers and only hers.
And, in each jar, the nails were soaked in a bit of her blood, given freely and with purpose, to show that they were hers and hers alone. Just like this little slice of mountain, which she had also bought by giving the forest some of her food in a show of camaraderie and respect.
The thing couldn’t have crossed to hurt her and the people with her even if it wanted to.
Which, apparently, it didn’t.
The old-man-thing took the dagger and cut his hand. The skin slid off where it cut, as if it wasn’t well attached.
Black blood spilled to the ground.
Alice nodded, then sighed and sat down on the cold ground.
The thing, too, sighed.
“I’m afraid, skinwalker, that I won’t invite you to join me at this merry little fire.”
The thing sat down, staring right at her from underneath the hood.
“I did not know that a [Witch] would be coming here, miss Garda,” it said in the end.
She shook her head: “I am no [Witch], Skinwalker Rayspin. Just a woman knowledgeable of the traditions and the old ways.”
She reached for Averick’s bag of holding, which sat on the ground behind her. She rummaged around inside, before taking out a bottle of wine.
“I may not invite you to join me, old chap, but what say you we share a glass of wine. It’s not the finest money can buy, but it’s good enough. What say you?”
Rayspin, the Skinwalker, or Skinstealer, or Skintwister, whatever you wanted to call their race, looked at the bottle with a hunger.
“I am calling upon Palaver, mister Rayspin. Will you accept?”
The Skinwalker stared at her, then sighed, a sound like rusty nails down a broken blackboard.
Then, with a voice that sounded like a four-door wardrobe if it could talk, it answered: “Well, I’d be a fool to refuse. Pass the bottle girl.”
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“I just wanted the boy’s skin. The one I’m using is too old. Been rotting for a while now.”
“I can only begin to imagine how bad that is,” she raised her glass towards him in a silent cheer, which he answered back with the bottle.
“I was expecting other reactions from you, young witchling. Aren’t you angered by this? The other [Witches] on the mountains would. They’ve been trying to end me and my people from time immemorial.”
“Nah, I don’t blame you. It’s your nature, can’t go against your own nature. Would be like asking a mouse not to eat cheese when offered.”
She sipped her wine, then added: “Not that I approve. I just don’t blame you for wanting to live as the thing you are. Gods know I tried to be what others wanted me to be and how much I hated it.”
Rayspin nodded: “Well, if you’re so supportive of my cause, then you could give me your skin. I promise it won’t even hurt,” it was, quite obviously, a joke, because actually threatening someone in Palaver would mean the end of the moment of peace. They were also drinking the bottle down very slowly, because Palaver lasted only as long as the bottle (or candle in some traditions) it was invoked with.
“I’m afraid, old chap, that my skin would be too small for one like you,” she joked back.
“Ah, but I can hold my breath for quite some time.”
They laughed.
Then silence reigned upon Palaver. The bottle was reaching its end, no matter what they did. The time for casual conversation was coming to an end, while the time for the dealmaking was inexorably ticking closer.
They looked at each other, trying to read what the other desired, trying to see what they could offer and ask back.
Then: “Tell me, Rayspin, are you and your people bound to these mountains somehow? For I never heard tales about your kind outside.”
The Skinwalker shuffled in place: “The [Witches] of the mountains have locked our tales to these accursed lands, yes. ‘Less someone tell our tales outside, we are bound to this big piece of rock.”
Alice nodded.
Now it was Rayspin’s turn: “Tell me, then, Garda: how do you know of our kind if you never heard our tales?”
Alice smiled: “That answer, old chap, you must earn.”
The Skinwalker laughed: “A secret for a secret then. Is that all?”
“No, I don’t think so. Tell me, Rayspin, what would you give in exchange for, say, a good storyteller, to tell the stories of your kind outside these mountains?”
To that, the Skinwalker froze.
“Well?” she asked.
“...Anything.”
“Then let’s add that too. A secret for a secret, a favor for a favor. Seems like something enough to me. What say you?”
Immediately the Skinwalker raised the bottle and poured her one last glass, leaving only enough in the bottle for himself.
“Let us end this Palaver with these terms,” he said, raising the bottle.
“May those willing to listen be witnesses to this deal,” she continued, raising her glass, ready to clink it.
“May the terms be respected.”
“May both sides face the harshest consequences if’n they respect the deal,” she finished, clinking her glass with Rayspin’s bottle. Then they drank.
And the deal was sealed.
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“So, tell me, Garda, how do you know of us?”
Alice nodded: “When I was a girl, I had a grandmother. I loved her, and she loved me like the daughter she’d had but hadn’t really raised as she wanted.
“She taught me nearly everything she knew, from plants and how to use them to heal, or to kill. From rites to traditions to ways to keep myself safe among things that weren’t human. She told me stories of those that had dared to pass the line between humanity and what lay beyond, and how and why they’d failed.
“And she told me stories of the monsters that lurk in the dark, in the pines and under the earth. Stories of old gods of fire and brimstone, stories of witches both kind and evil.
“She taught me of the mountains in their laws and rules unwritten. She taught me respect and she taught me the old ways.
“That is how I know your kind, Skinwalker.”
Rayspin was probably gaping at her.
“Now,” she continued, “Your time to shine: tell me a secret. Something that might help me and others.”
The Skinwalker remained silent for a while, thinking. She hadn’t asked him anything specific, but the terms of the deal stated that the exchange should be equal. She had revealed to him a big secret of her past, something that wasn’t known by anyone in this world. He would have to do the same.
“Do you know the truth of the Tiurna Mountains, little one?”
She shook her head.
“Of course you don’t. Not even the [Witches] know. It is old knowledge, from the time when the Traveler had only just arrived in this world, bringing the lot of us with him. In those times, the world was already done and made, humans and other species already existed, and Airm and Larnos had been crafted to hold the souls of the dead.
“In those times, the gods made the Tiurna Mountains. They raised the earth the same way you’d raise a tissue from the ground, leaving a big space underneath the world. There, they trapped the things they disliked, the mistakes, the outcasts. They even put Wardens to make sure they wouldn’t escape. They used to care at the time.
“But then humanity with its greed came. Now they’ve opened up a hole into the prison. And what lay beneath the earth is now free.”
Something grandma had once told Alice came back to her as she heard those words: If you want to imprison something, truly imprison it, then take away the sunlight from over its head. You can build as many walls as you want around something, make them of the strongest steel known to godkind, set someone to repair any small crack that will ever form, but if they’re still able to see the light of the sun over their head, no matter what, sooner or later they will escape.
A chill went down her spine.
“What will you ask, Garda, in exchange for telling our stories to the world outside the mountains?”
She really didn’t have to think about that one, after hearing the revelation.
She liked this world. She also like the idea of fixing the mistake she'd made in the past, but she knew full well what Skinwalkers were, what they could do. She would free them, help them live, but still keep them bound in a subtler way.
“You know, Rayspin: I like this world. A lot. But, you see, in this world, there are people who bleed red, not unlike any other hard working man and woman, but they seem to live only to cause harm and misery to others, laughing all the while at the misfortune they bring. For that reason, in exchange of your freedom, I ask that you take only the skins of those monsters,” she smiled, and her smile contained the rightful cruelty and anger of someone who knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that misfortune.
"Also, I've been told they're the ones who scream more when they're hunted down."
He agreed.
Then, as he lifted himself from the ground and she did the same, he asked: “Why are you helping us? We are monsters, by my and your admission.”
She had to smile at that: “Because I forgot your kind once, after my grandma died. I tried to forget everything she’d taught me, to keep the grief at bay. I already killed you once, I won’t do it again.”
She turned around, back towards her tent, adding: “Also, because I’m a chaotic little shit who does whatever the fuck she wants.”
As she sat in her tent and used her Skill, [Fall Asleep], she could hear the Skinwalker’s laughter.