Kyky nodded back quickly, pulling her hood up over her head. Her hair was distinctive, catching every ray of moonlight that made its way through the thick overhead branches, but the hood that hid her also cut out large chunks of her periphery. There was a reason motorcycle helmets weren't the law in her home state of Florida - sure, they protected your skull from getting smashed, but they also made it way harder to see said skull-smashing car coming up at your side. So, Kyky tried to focus her hearing as much as her sight to help stay vigilant (and tried not to think too much about broken skulls or spilled brains).
But the forest seemed quiet - or, quiet as the dark wood could be. There was the sound of the band of Marauders behind them as well as the rustling of leaves underfoot, the babbling of a brook somewhere to their left, the twitching leaves from errant squirrels and the occasional squeal of a bat. But no indication they would run into a village or even a camp…
And that made Kyky worry this was some kind of trap. But surely, the Duke's men couldn't be orchestrating such an elaborate scheme - baiting werewolves, who might have been drunk at the initial attack but wouldn't remain so after the fact - with their lord away at the king's funeral?
But, thinking politically, Kyky could see it. Rumor was that the Greek Duke had a claim to the throne, and if James Castille was chosen to take over, then the Eastern Realm was up for grabs. Perhaps there was an ambitious noble who knew that capturing Marcus the Vile would assure him the spot.
Kyky's eyes slid over to Marcus at the thought, and a wry, amused smile pulled at her lips. Whoever that ambitious noble was, he was in for the night of his life…