I was assailed by a wave of incorrigible unease suddenly, and somehow I knew the feeling was not new, but increased in volume. How foolish I felt in that moment, that I should have foreseen the arrival of such wraiths an hour before. I had assumed my sense of foreboding was jealousy over the merchant's interest in Camilla, or perhaps my anxiety over the constant threat of death the past week. But now it was a vivid, very real cascade of nausea and filth that only a priest can feel when confronted by something unholy and unnatural. I would have chided myself further, but Camilla's scream rent the very air and pierced my eardrums. My hands went to my ears, the thick wool of the cloak still held in them. I rose and tried to flee, but my long legs were immediately caught in the folds of the cloak. I stumbled and caught myself, grasping for my staff. 

"No more stooping!" My lover cried at me. 

"I'm aware!" I yelled back with some alarm. Our other traveling companions stared in mute shock or scrambled every which way. I was lucky in that Camilla had the good sense to run to the tree line. With my staff helping me rise, I finally got my feet under me to sprint to her, the both of us racing into the woods as another scream rang out, followed by a terrible, unearthly wail that seemed to permeate the very air. Camilla cried out in dismay, stumbling into a tree. I nearly toppled, but kept my feet this time. I helped her right herself, and swiftly stole a glance behind us. 

I only saw one man left running, and a rider swiftly pursued him across the small clearing. He screamed in primal fear, but the rider followed in eerie silence, a scythe clutched in his right hand. Even as I watched, he raised his cruel weapon, the blade almost glimmering from some untold power, and with a swift cut that looked almost theatrical, the man fell in two pieces as if it was the most natural change to the human form. His top half hit the dirt with a disturbing, heavy weight to it. Blood pumped from both halves, but that was not the most horrific thing to transpire. I saw two more men, one of the travelers and the young merchant, get up once more. Their eyes glowed a faint blue, like cold stars in the night. 

The other horsemen galloped past them, horses emaciated and gaunt, bearing down on our position. 

We fled into the darkness of the woods, Camilla ahead of me at my insistence, my hands ever pushing her forward. We crossed a glen and a copse of evil-looking trees in the gloom, before she leaped down a small drop that was shielded by vast roots from an ancient fir. Camilla stumbled, but my staff kept me upright. As we hit the ground, I swiftly grabbed Camilla and pulled her backward, enshrouding ourselves under the overhanging roots. My hand clamped over her mouth, and I gave a soft "ssshhh." I expected her to be smart enough to keep silent, but after the scream I was going to let her insult me later rather than risk it, now. Truly, I don't consider myself a brave man. But my staff pulsated gently, thrumming with some kind of vibrancy. I chalked it up to Sigmar. Camilla calmed a bit, though we both felt taut and ready to spring from barely suppressed fear. Hoofbeats rose and fell in distance, and a soft mist clung to the ground before us. 

I held my breath, holding Camilla tight as we waited for safety.