She glances around, pulling the spear out of the man’s back with a sickening sound. “Where’re the rest of ‘em? Shoulda been three more.”

“Ah—there was a woman. I stabbed her.” He shuffles uncomfortably. “The other two came and took her away, but…I don’t think she’ll make it.”

“Hm. Good job.”

Mordecai’s head snaps up at that. “Good job?! What’s good about it? I killed that woman!”

The orc rolls her eyes. “I forget sometimes how squeamish you little folk can be about that stuff. Look.” She uses the still-bloody tip of her spear to lift the chain off the grass. “See this? It’s silver. That kills the undead, so you were basically defending yourself. Don’t worry about it.” The necklace falls back to the ground. The orc then wipes the bloody spear on the fallen man’s trousers.

“I thought that was just werewolves,” he mutters. He scratches at the line on his vertebra where the necklace had been. The ache is starting to fade, though his neck joints feel stiff. All of his joints are starting to feel stiff, in fact. He wonders if it’s related to the sensation earlier, of his senses fading. Now that he thinks of it, that must have been his soul being ejected finally from his long-rotten corpse. If the orc had been just a second or two slower…

“All supernatural creatures, really. Silver and dark magic don’t mix.” She puts the spear away into a scabbard on her back, looking him over as she does. “Speaking of not mixing well, you alright in the sun there?”

He shrugs. “The silver hurt a thousand times worse than the sun. It doesn’t bother me as much anymore.” As soon as he finishes speaking, he pauses to consider it. “Actually,” he says somewhat frantically, “actually, where’s the sheet?”

The sheet has blood on it, which makes him cringe but beggars can’t be choosers. He drapes it over himself like a cloak and the relief is immediate. His entire body still aches, especially the head and neck region, but the burning sensation is gone and the stiffness in his joints begins to quickly fade.

As he gets himself situated, he glances at the orc and a thought occurs to him. “Why did you come back for me?” he asks. “I thought I was just the distraction.”

“Not many little folk will stand up to an orc. You earned my respect.” She claps him on the shoulder. The force of it almost brings him to his knees. “In orc culture, we choose how we want to die. Many choose to fall in battle, though some choose to live to old age. For those who are closest to them, it is their job to make sure that wish is honored, and to prevent it from being fulfilled is treachery. I figured being killed by a mob in the middle of nowhere probably wasn’t how you wanted to go out.”

“Definitely not,” Mordecai agrees. “So…does this mean we’re ‘close friends’?”

Her lips pull into a wry smirk. “Don’t push your luck.”

She turns and walks back into the cabin. Mordecai stoops to pick up his knife but pauses as he stares at the blood on the blade. There is a trail of trampled grass and soil made by the men’s retreat leading around the side of the house. He follows it uneasily, dreading what he may find there.

To his surprise, he finds no one. The men must have booked it back to their village, wherever it is. There are no living humans left in the area.

“It’s possible she’ll live, you know.” Mordecai nearly leaps out of his boots. An orc in plate armor should not be that stealthy. “The village isn’t far from here, and healing magic’s real good these days. But you know, a living person sees you, they’re gonna gather their buddies and come after you with silver and holy magic no matter what you do. And then you’re gonna have to either kill or be exorcised.”

Mordecai can see the wisdom in what she’s saying, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with it. That aside, there is one thing that still bothers him.

“You aren’t,” he points out.

The orc just grunts and turns away, hefting the pack she’d retrieved from the cabin. As she starts to walk away, Mordecai calls out to her. “Where are you going?”

“Dunno. But I can’t stay here. The heat’s on,” she says, kicking one of the dead men. “I need to lay low for a while.”

“Mind if I come along?” She pauses, but doesn’t look back. “I don’t have anywhere to go either. I’d like to find out how I died, if possible, and learn more about the undead.” He didn’t even know about the silver thing. If the orc hadn’t come back, he’d be a useless pile of bones right now.

“Look, boneman,” she starts, finally turning around to face him with a sigh. “I only know what’s common knowledge. And besides that, I prefer to travel alone.”

“You still know more than I do. And even if you can’t help me, there must be someone who can.”

She sighs again, rubbing a hand over her eyes and through her mohawk. Then she turns her gaze to the sky, staring off into the blue. Mordecai can’t tell whether she’s thinking or looking for something, but eventually she comes to a decision. “Fine. There’s a kingdom up north that I hear has been overrun with undead. Maybe one of them’ll have enough of a mind to talk to you.” As soon as she sees Mordecai perk up, she holds up a finger in the universal ‘wait’ sign. “I can get you to the border, but no further. Once we get there, you’re on your own.”

“Understood.” Finally, some kind of direction! It isn’t exactly a roadmap, but it’s better than wandering aimlessly waiting for something to pop up. “Thanks a lot, uh…”

“Achillea.” She rolls her eyes. “I know what you’re about to say. Just don’t.”

“Okay…?” He hadn’t been about to say anything, actually. “I’m pretty sure my name is Mordecai.”

Achillea gives him an incredulous look. “Pretty sure? What, you don’t know your own name?”

He shrugs. “I don’t remember much from when I was alive. That’s the name that was embroidered on the bag I found next to me when I woke up.”

She stares at him flatly for a moment, then visibly gives up. “There’s worse reasons to call yourself somethin’ I guess. Come on then.” She turns and marches into the woods, Mordecai falling in step behind her.