Ember cowered back against the wagon by which Ember had tried to seek shelter from the multicolored uprising, only drawn away from it by Pylea's literally shining example. Her stomach twisted fearfully, to watch the colorful and weird creatures that were attacking the camp; worse yet, they were attacking Pylea, but she found a rush of adrenaline, a thrill, seeing how bravely the other girl turned back the attacks.<br/><br/>But all too soon the burning fire of the armor winked out, and the Pylea's expression was horrifying; Ember felt sick. What would stop the next spear? There was little enough time to think, as a squat black and red creature leapt at her own arm, raising a rather crude-looking club. The blow was staved off a moment as its weight made Ember stagger, and her reaction was rather instinctive - she whirled, obliterating the creature in a spray of slime and gobbets against the side of the wagon.<br/><br/>Some part of her deep inside apologized profusely to the inhabitants; that muck was not going to be easy to clean off the brightly painted wood.<br/><br/>Its club hit the ground next to her foot with a thud, and she stooped to grab it, clutching it for a moment - and then shoving it toward Pylea. "Come ON!" Fire had stopped them, fire had protected, and there was one place where she knew how to get fire. Well, several, the cooking fires ringing the interior of the camp, and she made a cowering beeline toward the nearest one, pausing to kick away an attacker more than once.<br/><br/>At the fire she stooped, muttered a murmured, fervent reminder to the flames of their contract; fear and need pushed a surprising strength into it, and when she scooped a burning log out, the flames licked at her hand like kittens.<br/><br/>A particularly bold poison frog leapt across the fire, driving her back, and she shrieked as it clung to the front of her clothing, hanging there until she thwapped it to the ground and drove the burning faggot into its squat, repulsive body. Like the other, it seemed almost to explode. She had not time to really enjoy the dark, stomach-twisting satisfaction of it. More poison frogs were on the run, and all too many of them were running at here. Back and forth she swung the wood, only able to pray that Pylea was doing the same, because the moment she stopped looking out for herself another of the creatures would land upon her.<br/><br/>She saw one leap and come sailing through the snowy air, and she twisted to swing her burning wood like a bat, grunting with the impact that left a dark, wet smear across the trampled snowy ground.<br/><br/>Frequently she stopped as she arced her way step by step back toward Nikodemus' wagon, hoping Hannibal was still all right, hoping the door had not been breached; her progress kept getting frustrated, until she swung the wood in a hard, low arc to drive several of them back and then whirled to leap over a wagon trace as nimbly as an elk, trying to bolt along the outside of the wagon circle.<br/><br/>Her trick was not so tricky as she hoped. A shape hit her hard in the back, between her shoulders, and the impact sent her stumbling facefirst into the snow. Within moments they swarmed her, pulling her struggling arms up and back while she shrieked.