“What if-”

“You died.”

“What- no. That’s not what I was going to say.”

“What’s wrong with dying.” asks the zombie “Are you saying dying is bad?”

“I- uh. Yes? Yes, dying is bad.”

“Yeah, it kinda is,” says the zombie “Sorry were you two discussing something important?”


“I’d prefer not to have to kill you,” says the mercenary “Stand down.”

“Oh,” grins the bounty hunter, black teethed and bloody “You’re the fae-killer? Is that who you are? Protecting your little second-born heir from the big, bad, wolf? Haha. Try and kill me then. I dare you.”

“Why are you…” the botanist waved a hand at the asexual. “That?”

The asexual sighed. “Do you mean ‘talking to thin air’, ‘wearing two-day-old clothes’, or ‘hauling around a cauldron’?”

“I was kind of referring to being covered in blood, but those are good questions too.”

“You’re forgetting,” says the bounty hunter “I’m not human. I have no time for your squabbles.”

“So what,” says the mercenary,  standing firmly in front o the second born heir “You’re hunting us because you want to for no reason at all.”

“Money,” the bounty hunter grins “And a good fight.”