The honeysuckle field slid out from under him, and Hajin woke on a bedroll with forest air stinging his lungs.
Cold crawled through his coat where the bedding ended, and his cramped neck filed every complaint the dream skipped.
A shape leaned over him before his eyes even focused, dropping its shadow straight across his face.
'Ambush, wolf, bandit, whatever you are, you picked the wrong idiot to loom over.'
He slammed his left palm beside the bedding and kicked upward, answering the threat long before recognizing it.
Loccy caught his rising heel with one hand while her hammer stayed upright beside her shoulder, well beyond his reach. Her knees never bent beneath the sudden weight, and her feet stayed planted in the moss like two old stumps.
His leg stopped dead against fingers sticky with honey, and the jolt bounced straight back into his hip.
