She spares him an amused barely-there glance over her shoulder, for just half a heartbeat, and then she's off - west through the woods, away from the town and into the dark filled with back roads and the odd old home; they'll have to tear through Sangwine to get to the outlying areas, but it's not like either of them care about the comfort of the hour. People could do with getting a bit startled out here.

Riding like this, breakneck and reckless, is one of the only things she loses herself in anymore that isn't killing. She doesn't smell blood or gunpowder, now, though part of her searches for it, in the back of her mind. Her horse clears a fallen log with ease, its hoofbeats finding hard-packed earth, then cobblestone, as they fly past the illuminated cabin window of some unsuspecting misanthrope.

Chased by a nightmare like this, the sight should be horrific - but if anyone catches any sound, there'll be no memory of screams, but perhaps, if someone listens close enough, someone's soft laughter.