What Ellis knows is this: whatever is making those deep, grating groans is not something that they want to meet.

Maybe it isn't a hurlock, but—

"Go," is clipped, briskly directed Stephen's way. No weapon. Nothing coming from the fluttering of his hands. He and the other two need to be the first up those stone steps on the far side of the street.

Abby needn't repeat herself. Neither she nor Ellie have to tell him much more than they already have. Of course these things move in packs. They aren't darkspawn, but there is some recognizable element here. Enough that most questions are foregone conclusions.

There is gore dripping from Ellis' mace. Bone fragments, bits of rot that may once have been flesh.