The warning had scarcely reached their ears when the carriage shuddered beneath them. It was not the jolting rattle of uneven road nor the dip of a wheel into a rut, but something far more deliberate more violent. A thunderous crack rang through the air as a force like a battering ram slammed into the side of the vehicle. Wood groaned and bent under the pressure, and the sigils carved into the inner walls flared an urgent red before flickering erratically, threads of luminous glyphs unraveling like torn embroidery.
Melisande was the first to react. Without hesitation, she threw herself over Redd's body, shielding the unconscious bandit with her own frame. Her hands gripped the bolted bench with white-knuckled force as she pressed her back to the wall, taking the brunt of the collision through tensed muscle and grit. Beneath her, the Skinwalker snarled and hissed, its translucent form lashing out with claws that did not strike but simply phased through her in protest.
