Moon-Singer scratched his beard. “They might be out here already and waiting for an opportune moment,” He said.
“Maybe they plan on ambushing us when we go inside,” Black-Wind suggested, landing beside Blue-flame.
“That seems an odd plan,” Blue-Flame replied. “Sluagh can fly. Being outside would be to their advantage.”
“They can do a lot more than just fly,” Moon-Singer replied. “Trust me, I know from experience. They won’t necessarily stick to a location just because it gives them that advantage.”
I looked around to see if I could see any sign of the Sluagh. I didn’t notice anything except for some crows cawing in the trees and a couple of vultures circling overhead… but I remembered Wren’s powers and decided that it wasn’t time to rule out the possibility that the birds were more than they seemed. “Are we still going inside, then?” I asked, resting my spear on the ground.
Moon-Singer glanced at the door. “Yes,” He said decisively, shifting to his human form and heading to the front door. “Let’s stick together this time, though.”
We all followed after him, all of us shifting to either our human or animal forms. Most of us wouldn’t have fit inside in the hulking battle forms we had taken against the barghests. Blue-flame trotted in last, his bushy tail swinging behind him.
The inside of the the trailer was dark and musty; a smell like rust permeated the air, and what light peaked through the mostly-boarded windows showed specks of dust dancing through the air. Moon-Singer re-summoned his sword and Healing-Tears pulled out a quarterstaff. It was the kind of place that just gave you bad feelings all over, and the old, poorly kept furniture didn’t dispel that feeling one bit.
There was dark patch on one of the ripped up sofas; I stared at it, trying to make out what it was or if it was anything at all.
“What is it, Silver-Singer?” Healing-Tears asked. I pointed toward the sofa.
A moment passed and and the shadow stepped forward, revealing, well… it must have been a faery, but they were ghastlier and more frightening than any faery I had yet seen, even the pale-skinned rusalka. Their skin was stretched across their bones, and it was cracked and dry and pasty white. Their hair was long and black and scraggly, their teeth yellow and their eyes black like a crow’s. They grinned a mocking grin toward us, and I gripped my spear tightly.
“It’s not nice to come in peoples’ homes uninvited,” the Sluagh said hoarsely, hobbling toward us like an old woman. I wasn’t sure if they were a woman or a man, but their frail, ripped, dress-like garment seemed to suggest a woman. She pointed a cane toward me. “No matter who you are.”
“What do you mean?” I asked warily.
“It was a good day when Silver-Dancer died,” she said darkly. “He was a real thorn in Dreadnaught’s side.”