Barrow Fields Giggle at the ghostly

"Maybe me and my many holes are better off staying here then."

Vlad guffawed. "Thees no gud plenn," he informed her with a shake of his head - and, in case she was too out of it to work out why it was a terrible idea. "You ded so fest vit dees plenn. Vat meck hole? Ees wulf?" He narrowed his eyes at a patch of bloody fur. If Rosalyn was going to have any chance in hell, she had to be moved - but not before the damage had been assessed. "Hev you hole in stow-meck?" She could breathe, so her lungs and throat had survived the assault, but if her guts fell out there was no hope. "Hole een stow-meck ees end for wulf," Vlad clarified, lowering his head into the space behind her elbow and burrowing his nose into the fur there - nothing squelched out. This was a good sign.