She tried to swallow, hoping the empty gesture might serve to clear her throat, give her time to focus her thoughts. But her mouth was impossibly dry, her mind utterly bereft of anything of value. Only impressions remained, a vague sense of something that fell far too short of understanding to be of any comfort. She did not know what these creatures were, only that they were more familiar than she wanted them to be, and that they were of no good omen. They would be of no use to either of them. She could not think on putting names to their faces, nor intent to the unblinking gaze the creatures leveled at the passers-by. To make an attempt would have been to invite more madness than she already courted.
So she merely nodded, looking wide-eyed back to Dominic, willing herself to believe their comfortable lie. She fought the urge to reach out to her newfound friend, to feel the warmth of his hand in hers just for the simple reassurance it might provide. By conscious effort she turned her steps with his, guiding them both back to the feeble safety of the firelight.
"What are they?" she whispered, though she expected no response, and was yet uncertain she wanted one. And in the silence the sounds of their motions carried all the clearer to the beachgoing pair; the stench of sulphur wafted, unavoidable, toward them on the winds. She could not stop herself speaking, though later she would deeply regret this lapse in self control.
"They look familiar," she mused. Her eyes fell away from the bonfire, drifting back toward the surf in spite of the salvation so close at hand. Even a literal light at the end of the tunnel could not stop her feeling drawn to these beasts. "Sometimes I see them from the corner of my eye," she said. "Around Pax. In my apartment." She laughed, a sound increasingly unhinged the longer it wore on. "I think they took my keys..."
The creatures seemed to respond to her voice. With slow, slinking motions they crept onto the beach, taloned claws scratching deep runnels into wet sand. The trenches filled with water when the tide washed in again, but even the surf could not wholly wash away their mark; when the water rolled back the hard lines remained, evidence of the tangible, lingering presence that followed them both.