The problem with living in the faybaned lands turned out to be that they were full of such creatures, lowly and vile.

Some of them spoke in rasping hisses; with men's voices, with women's, with elderly voices. Many spoke in children's voices, hoarse and pleading.

" Little cat... Little cat... I'm all alone... Can't you come here and keep me company?"

That one was in the shape of a tortoise, with a long neck that struck out like a snake, its shell crusted with dirt and fingerbones.

" Little cat... I've been here so long... Can't you bring me some water...?"

That one was a fox, half skeletal, fur sloughing off, laying in wait for him in the roots of a tree.

" Little cat... Aren't you frightened? Let this old woman take care of you..."

And that one was a large, slimy thing, like a bagworm with a nest of bones, a mushy, overfat face peeking out.

Sif really hadn't meant to kill so many, and if they would leave him alone, he would leave them alone- but they all seemed to delight in killing, and would just as readily attack each other as they would him. Perhaps that was how they had all grown so wicked and twisted in the first place, trapped on cursed land with nothing to do but kill others for sustenance. Perhaps back when there had been people on the land, they had done something horrible which caused it to spawn so many monstrous spirits. It frightened Sif to imagine that he could've ended up the same.

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