"Ataash varin kata," Bull said, low and deep while Krem whispered his prayers. There were no gods under the Qun, only service and direction. Krem had heard the words many times before.

He could smell the fiend, because it didn't smell like anything else he'd encountered in the woods here. The noise it made shivered through his bones and Bull stood straighter, his good eye focused and gleaming in the moonlight.

Something in him roiled, eager for violence; eager to hurt and be hurt. In the stillness of the forest, the fiend's movement and noise seemed loud, projected.

"Best approach?" he asked low. Geralt had experience, and Bull would defer to it.