"Thanks-" She manages on a ragged exhale, because she's just noticed another wet hand pawing up onto the bank. Trust this goddamn place to give her exactly what she wants but with a twist: undead who are more bone than skin, and wearing enough armor that it's difficult for her to find places her mace should go.

She remembers the attack on the Gallows, and Jone's torn open lip. Don't waste time on the chest, face and neck–

When she reaches out toward one skeleton with her gloved hands to grab it by the face it bites her through the leather; she screams instinctively, and twists. There isn't nearly enough sinew to keep the head on top of the spine. The body crumples, when the neck snaps.

"I'm fine," she shouts, heart hammering, ignoring the instinct to rip her glove off and check if those fucking teeth went into her skin or not, "More coming. Go for the head!"