The sword lowers, and Tsenka rises from her crouch, the blade of her staff dug hard into the earth in the process, and at Julius's side she nearly vibrates with the desire to

to

it's obvious what to do. To strike again while their guard is down, and have fucking done with it. It is not the presence of Flint or any of the others that stays her hand, not any inclination on her part to mercy or to moralizing, but the knowledge that even she can't pull anything out of the minds of the dead. Her lip curls, and she does not relax the threatening hold of her staff, but neither does she unleash another boulder, holds. Waits.

Some of them can always die later.