The blessed blade hit her at her exposed neck.
With one arm free Grisval had been able to take hold of a fragment of his broken sword and hit her with a desperate strength. His own fingers, forced to clutch the sharp edges, were suffering and with such a weak hold that fragment could not penetrate.
All it did was fizzle and scorch the surface of her hide.
Still he tried again, struck all he could while the beast hissed. As long as he could the hunter would try and take her down.
She let go of his neck, stopped the fragment with the palm of her hand and grasped it, snatched it off him then plunged it herself deep into her neck.
He watched her choke and wriggle, get up shaking and step away from him.
There was fear in those yellow eyes.
When the blessing was gone she threw the metal piece away. Her torso, her arm and now her neck, half of her body looked like coal. Yet she still stood and he realized she was holding his dagger.
Grisval stood immobile.
Try all he could, that enemy had proved invincible. All he could do now was face his fate. There was anger in his eyes, on his face, but only at himself.
Joan's fear turned to sadness.
She looked away, turned to Brenin and watched the werewolf resting on the ground, retching. His heart was almost fully healed now. His shoulders, not so much.
"Stand up." She ordered him.
The beast had no choice but to obey, her blood made sure of that. He got on his knees, then up his feet and wavered. Just holding up took all he had.
"Where is your hideout?"
"In the fields." He pointed but feebly.
Compared to her the werewolf could barely stand, which was for the best. Had he been stronger the hunger would not have receded.
"Guide us."
And Joan turned to the hunter: "You are coming with us."
He wanted to refuse, if only out of pride, but Grisval kept those words for himself. He pushed himself up. His whole body also screamed after all the punishment it had taken. It looked unharmed, yet was pummeled to submission.
Brenin walked in front, Grisval just after. She closed their march and noticed how the other werewolf was limping slightly on one leg.
They followed the dirty paths and past grazing cows until reaching a line of young trees behind which the peasants had piled up all the rocks they cleaned from their fields. She recognized the one stone that hid the entrance.
Indeed, there was a hole underneath, reeking of blood.
If released, hounds would find it with ease.
"You go first." She ordered Brenin, then approached him with a growl. "Once in, go to the back and face the wall."
There was little left of what had been a rope ladder, but he could not have grasped it anyway, so the beast just jumped down into the darkness.
She turned to Grisval, turned the dagger around and handed him the hilt.
"Your turn."
He picked his weapon back, looked around him at the empty fields; the castle walls were visible behind the thin foliage; she was eager to see him flee.
So he passed her by, crouched at the hole, grimaced against the stench before holding the rope and climbing down.
Joan went last, dragged the rock above them, leaving just enough of an opening for a slight light and fresh air.
Inside, Grisval could see nothing, so he had sit near the entrance. Brenin, as ordered, was at the back. She went to him, tapped his back and let him rest.
The whole place smelled like home.
One the ground were puddles of dry blood. The woodcutter's axe, a basket with bread and two buckets, once still holding water.
She lay on the blood, curled up and closed her eyes.
"Eh. Eh!" Brenin reacted. "You can't be serious!"
"What's happening?" The hunter smirked.
"She is going to sleep! Eh, witch! There is a hunter here!"
That made Grisval laugh, but a forced one.
"Calm down, will you? I'm blind in here, there are two of you and all I have is this knife."
"Okay, if she goes asleep, I hold her down and you cut her neck."
"Deal."
She only grunted because of their noise.
In truth, she did feel tired. Her whole body ached but above that her own weakness kept churning, eating at her. Even now, with some distance between her and her prey, she still felt that hunger, the temptation that had her excited.
So it was better to just ignore them, to close her eyes and ignore the realm.
Once the castle would hunt her down, things would get simple again.
But for now, her mind was a storm.
"What's your name?" Grisval asked him.
"Brenin. I used to be a woodcutter."
"Lucky this hole exists, Brenin. You would not have held a night in a house."
"I was going to hide in the woods, but then I remembered the caches. Roland still knew one and, well, here we are."
Silence fell for a moment. Brenin could see the hunter play with his dagger. The ribbons were choking the slits again.
It was the hunter who talked again: "Who built those? That's quite the work."
"Yeah, and they dug them at moonlight! I was this high back then." Slightly above his knee. "They made me carry the dirt."
"The castle?"
"My parents. That was back when we were rich and the lord would come and, you know, collect. Nowadays there is nothing to hide from him anymore, so people have forgot about those places."
"Sounds like you have stories to tell, Brenin."
"Do I!"
He was smiling, but his mouth was a muzzle and his face was full of fur. Whenever he looked at his hands, his heart tightened.
"I'm doomed, aren't I?" His joyful tone had died down.
"Yeah."
"You'll kill me next."
"Yeah."
He thought he had spent the last two days lamenting about his fate, but Brenin had spent them in delusion, hoping still that there was a way out of this.
She could feel him breaking down. Blood spoke louder than even his motions. The need to cry against the inevitability of death. The need to stay strong for others. And of course, a deep hatred for her tormentor.
He held his arm where the curse had first started.
"So, monsters exist, uh." He forced himself to say with a fake calm. "I bet this is just routine for you."
"It's my first time." Grisval mused.
That took the woodcutter aback.
"Seriously?!"
"Yeah believe it or not, until we got here this was all myths and legends for us as well. When mother - mother Clothilde" he corrected "heard of a ritual we thought nothing of it."
"So, all of this?"
"Completely unbelievable. And I had trained all my life for this moment. But I guess," the hunter turned his blind gaze to the silver monster curled on the ground, "our knowledge was faulty."
"I would say you did pretty good for a first."
"Thanks! You're not half bad yourself. For all it's worth, I would have loved to get drunk with you."
"Man, what songs does your village sings? You know that one?"
It was the pleasure of condemned men to pester her with noise.