Pip was walking against the wall.
Its six feet moved in an order Ysabet had never seen. Three rose together, struck, rose. The other three followed. Its forehead pressed into blackened masonry. Each step drove the growing antlers harder against the stone.
“Pip.”
It did not turn.
She lit the lamp. The flame shook. Ashaun was already upright, sword in her good hand and nothing in her expression which suggested waking.
“Down,” Ysabet said.
Ashaun looked at her, then at the creature. She lowered the sword.
Chaska woke to the sound and swore when she struck her knee on the cold kettle. Lilt lifted herself beside the doorway.
