No sooner had he stepped out into the dragon body proper when a girl who was far too young to look that old and exhausted by life came up to him. She grabbed his cloak and tried to press up against him, rubbing her flat chest against his arm.<br/><br/>"Ey, you come from Siroho's? You wanna share?" she let the scraps of her dress slide even lower, revealing her breasts and nipples fully. Her nipples were a poisonous green and dripping ichor down her front. Scales of the same colour had started to cover her skin. "You give me high, I give you ride. Big high, big ride." She purred. The Vagrant simply stared at her with his pale eyes, staying still until she withdrew. He walked on and ignored the curses and profanity she heaped upon his back.<br/><br/>The Vagrant had barely turned two corners before he stopped again. A large, hound-like animal sat on its haunches, square in the middle of the road. Tainted by infernal influence, it was far larger than normal dogs. Far more fearsome and dangerous, and infinitely more ferocious. It was a Dogspawn. There was no sign of the creature's Handler, and even the most drugged, brainless inhabitant of the town knew automatically to give it a wide berth. Some people stood pressed up along the walls of the nearby scrapheaps masquerading as houses, others simply took one look into the street, spotted the Dogspawn and decided that taking another street would be longer but much safer.<br/><br/>The Dogspawn watched the Vagrant. It had mismatched eyes: one was canine, black in the poor light and unreadable. The other was a human eye, and it flickered in recognition. Somewhere either in the town or outside it the creature's Handler was watching everything through that human eye. The Dogspawn panted heavily, a thin miasma leaving its jaws and colouring its unproportionally big fangs orange that then dripped to the ground as a thick ichor. Its eyes never left the Vagrant even when someone stumbled - or was pushed - and nearly bumped into it.<br/><br/>The Vagrant didn't even attempt to run. There was no point. Over the years, desperate prey had tried many things to hide its scent from the halfbreed Dogspawns: perfume, mud, excrement, even the blood of another member of the Dogspawn's pack. All those attempts had failed. The conclusion he had reached was that they didn't track by scent, at least not the body's scent. At that point he had stopped trying to run from them when they met, and had instead stood to face them head on. That was the reason why the rest of the pack and their Handlers lay dead like a trail of corpses across the land.<br/><br/>With a growl the Dogspawn got to its feet, refuse clinging to blood-crusted legs. It padded forwards with difficulty, dragging itself through the ankle high muck. The Vagrant watched on but didn't move. Eight metres from him the Dogspawn leaped for this throat, but it was a weak gesture, a mere suggestion of its usual power, and the Vagrant simply stepped back and watched as it collapsed to the ground in front of him. The creature's flanks were heaving, the breathing was gasping and ragged. Black blood dribbled from its ears, a sign that it was going to die very soon.<br/><br/>He took several steps to the side, intent on going around it, but the Dogspawn wasn't quite dead yet. It snapped after him with the last of its strength. While too slow to catch the Vagrant's ankle, it still managed to snag the edge of his cloak. The Vagrant pulled at it in an attempt to free it, while the Dogspawn glared at him through half-closed eyes. The jaws remained locked and the Vagrant pulled harder and harder until the old fabric finally gave away and ripped. The Vagrant stumbled at the sudden freedom, pulling the cloak back around himself but it was too late, and the Dogspawn's eyes widened.<br/><br/>A wide and long piece of cloth was wound several times around the Vagrant's chest and under his shoulders. Small legs stuck out on each side of his chest and small arms hung over his shoulders while a messy-haired head rested on his shoulder. The eyes were closed and the cheeks were red from a fever, but what was most amazing was that the child was utterly pure and untouched by demonic miasma. The skin was pale as snow and was almost glowing with purity.<br/><br/>And that wasn't all. A sword hung at the Vagrant's side, unusual in the elegant line of its shape and power which couldn't be hidden even with several layers of dirty rags wrapped around the sheath and handle. An eye was carved into the top of the pommel, and it looked like an incredibly realistic carving until the eyelids opened and the eye glared at the dying Dogspawn. The stare dug into the dead Dogspawn, chasing the fading connection to its Handler and trying to follow it.<br/><br/>The Vagrant left the street as soon as he got his cloak free from the dead jaws. He wrapped the cloak back around himself as he walked, hiding his precious cargo as well as he could. A quick walk and several twists and turns soon had him on the other side of the dragon from where the Dowspawn lay dead, and he was just passing a tavern when someone grabbed his shoulder right below where a small child’s arm rested.<br/><br/>He stiffened and one hand landed on the sword hidden underneath his cloak. It was only luck that kept him from drawing it. A quick glance at the old man’s face told him that this wasn’t the Handler, and another look inside the tavern revealed no visible enemy inside. The sword itself was silent by his side.<br/><br/>Lips pressed into a thin line as he thought about it, but in the end he decided to help the old man. Shifting around until he could offer the man the use of his arm instead of the shoulder. Slow movements not only helped the clearly drunk man move about, but also kept the Vagrant’s cloak shut as they moved through the tavern and towards the people at the table.<br/><br/>As they reached the table, the Vagrant cast a worried look behind him at the exit of the tavern. He couldn’t stay here for long.