The plaza erupted into motion and then someone wrenched her around to face the eastern road again: the road that was suddenly full of the enemy. Xessa and her makeshift Paw lunged to meet them. Their line shattered under the impact and the first Melody warriors were shoving through, into the plaza, into the mass of civilians, the mass of innocents.

‘—stay in formation or we’re—’ Toxte was shouting, trying to pull them back together, to prevent them scattering, but it was too late. Small, fierce battles erupted as the second line of the enemy engaged the broken Paw. They were overwhelmed with the ease of a Drowned cutting through water lilies. Lethal and against the current, killing everything they touched.

Xessa’s spear shivered as it deflected a club that arced towards her. She stumbled sideways under the impact, and Ossa leapt in and caught the enemy’s free hand in his jaws, tearing, holding on and shaking. The woman’s mouth opened in pain and Xessa got her spear in the way of the club again so she couldn’t smash in Ossa’s head. The dog let go and backed off, flanks heaving, paw curled up. He was nearly done. She had to get him to safety.

The woman facing her had somehow lost her weapon; she punched Xessa in the side of the head and the eja reeled backwards, stars bursting in her eyes. She hit her again, and again, until Xessa’s head was ringing, vision blurring, her spear flailing blindly. She blocked the next punch with it and punched back, fist crashing into the warrior’s jaw, and in the split second it gave her Ossa leapt in again.

The dog buried his muzzle in anything soft he could find and tore. Tore through material and tore through flesh, wrenching away great gobbets of meat. Blood sprayed, thick and bright, coating them all, and the woman tried to twist away. Ossa followed her, his muzzle deep in her belly.

Xessa stabbed her in the chest. Ossa tore at her some more and then leapt away, his black coat ruby red under the first bars of dawn, the stench of blood and shit clinging in Xessa’s nostrils, making her gag. She wiped at her face, realised her hand was red, her face already sticky, blood in her eyelashes, running down her forehead and cheeks, insinuating its way into her mouth. She gagged again, coughed a stream of black bile, and made herself check for danger.

She wasn’t in the road mouth any more. Somehow she’d been pushed back and now the Melody was flooding in through the entrance she was supposed to have held. Toxte – where was Toxte? She spun in a circle. Fighting everywhere, the Melody in lines and formations, impenetrable groups of warriors for the defenders to splash and break against. Everywhere, Tokob and Yaloh were dying or surrendering. None of them were her husband.

We’ve lost.