Back home, this was how someone would drag their dinner off if it was too heavy to carry over their shoulders. Vica had never been good with a bow and arrow or any weapons - deliberate on her part, as she’d spent her whole life doing her best to seem as harmless as possible - but she had always been skilled at hunting. No, not skilled. Suited to it. It was a small thing for her to wait until a deer came within range, then deliver a deadly blow to their neck or head with her raw magic. She could do it from a distance, and she didn’t need the pinpoint aim of an archer who would miss if his arrow so much as twitched the wrong way against the string.
She supposed she’d always been good at that. Killing to survive, that is. And as she towed Constantine behind her with the long fabric binds lo
