The raiders fell fast, their patched together knives and half-jammed pistols too slow and weak to even leave a scratch. Arna moved fast, a black blur of flashing claws cleaving skin like butter yet silent amongst the screams and yells of the men beneath her fangs.

Soon she stood alone in blood and rain, the fire now only smouldering ash, and she turned, stepping carefully over dead men and broken weapons, her glowing eyes trained on their prisoner.

The woman was surely a warrior – clad in sheets of metal bolted together to form a chestplate, leather boots made to last, and an empty sheath at her belt fit for a sword. Her body was built for battle, muscular yet agile, old scars tracing her pale skin underneath the fresh wounds the raiders had bestowed upon her. The rope at her wrists was taunt, biting into the flesh where she had tugged and struggled at the bindings.

Arna stopped just in front of her, out of reach of any stray kicks the woman may consider throwing, and met the green-eyed gaze. She was beautiful and fierce. Even the suffering any loss that had led her here and the beatings the raiders had given her, both physical and emotional, had not killed the bright light in her eyes. They were red-rimmed and bloodshot, tears still shivering on her cheeks as the rain belted down around them, but her jaw was still set stern and she didn’t even flinch as Arna took one last step towards her.

Arna kept her eyes on the woman as she lowered her head, taking the other end of the rope attached to the stake between her teeth, and then jerked upwards, ripping it from the ground in a smooth flourish. The woman didn’t move.

She took another step, nearer. She felt the blood on her fangs and chin melting away with the rain, dripping to mix in the mud sinking beneath her weight. She lowered her head again, her eyes still fixed on the woman’s watchful gaze before glancing down at her bleeding wrists, humming a gentle rumble in her throat.

To be honest, Arna expected the woman to attack her out of fear or bolt into the forest, but she did neither. Instead, she seemed to understand and raised her shaking bound hands, offering them to the demon before her.

Arna gently took the rope between her teeth and it fell away with barely a motion, releasing the warrior who rubbed at the tender skin and hissed at the pain.

That’s it then, Arna thought. She silently turned away, preparing to slink back into the shadows and continue her endless journey across the dead land, but a noise behind her made her hesitate.

She glanced over her shoulder. The warrior had lifted herself onto her haunches, ready to stand up and run at a moment’s notice, and yet she remained.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Arna was stunned. No one had spoken to her in a hundred years, if not longer – and definitely not with gratitude softening their voice. Was the warrior afraid? Yes. Her entire body was shaking, half from the cold rain soaking her through and half from being a mere metre away from something otherworldly she had just witnessed effortlessly kill six armed men. Arna could smell the fear rolling off her in waves, and yet she stayed and spoke.

Arna hadn’t used her voice for so long that she thought she had lost it along with the majority of her humanity. She had been in her saber form for decades – her ‘human’ form unrecognisable to the girl she had once been. The saber skull would still be fused to her own like a constant headpiece, her eyes would still glow amber beneath the sleek bone, the shadows would still follow her like smoke. Her movements would be too smooth, too silent, her entire presence anything but human, but she was still faster and stronger as the animal. It was what they had made her to be.

But now…Could she even speak like this? What would she even say? Would the woman even want a reply?

Arna bowed her head, shifting her body so she half-faced the warrior, ready to either turn towards her or the forest in a single movement, and waited.

“M-my name’s Neri,” the woman continued, her trembling voice betraying just how terrified she truly was. “Do you- do you have a name?”

It was the only thing she did have.

Arna slowly approached the woman – Neri – again, her steps cautious until she could feel Neri’s warmth in the chilled night air. The warrior blinked, oddly expectant and afraid. Her hand tightened on her empty sheath, her breathing hitching in her throat.

Noise rumbled in her chest like a storm far off on the horizon, her mouth opening slightly as she forced the air to form something coherent. “Arna…” she finally managed, her name a guttural growl.

“Arna…?” Neri repeated, surprise etching her tone at actually getting an answer to her question, and relief filled her. She'd understood.

Arna nodded once.

“Thank you, Arna,” the warrior said, clearer, and she stopped shaking, her fear dulling slightly as a smile pulled at her lips. “Thank you for saving me.”