"I need a weapon," he whispered.

"Think you can lift one?" Caera managed a weak shrug, before motioning him to follow. They weren't following paths anymore. You couldn't hunt on a path. If you wanted to catch someone and kill them, you had to get off the beaten path and go looking, and Death's Grip had plenty of places to do that.

Sharp pain shot up his leg.

"Ffffff--" He bit down the word and yanked his foot up. A drop of blood dripped from under his big toe, and one of the bloodgrip vines shifted as he pulled his weight off it. "God damn it," he whispered.

Caera smiled...