As Lord Grayavale's knights loaded their prisoners on a cart, one of the men moved toward's Grimm's emaciated form. "What about this one? Fine weapon. . ." As he reached toward's the body, another armored hand grabbed his wrist.
"Not that one, boy. Take another look. That's obviously another undead. It needs disposing of. You go on with the others. I'll burn the remains. . .Oh, and I'll be taking that weapon." The man lifted the axe out of the knight's hand.
"Yes, sir!" The knight returned to his former position by the cart and took up a spot next to Banshee, admiring her "costume."
As the knights left the village, the newcomer drug Grimm's form around a corner and made like he was heading for a small area used for bonfires. Once out of sight, his armor began to liquify and melt away, reforming into the familiar shape of Sam Dawson. Leaning back against the wall of a hut, he sighed and said. "That was close. . ."
