*Wesley's stomach churns and he grimaces, wrenching the toothsword from the mouths of one the ravenous shades and swinging it in a ground-clearing arc.*

It's positively revolting, but in a slightly beneficial way, *he calls.* The poor devils are just opening their mouths and letting you lob the flesh in.

He stabs the tooth at one still enticed by the promise of fresh meat, and it shrieks piteously. Wesley almost feels bad for it until it latches on to his toothsword once more and throws itself to the filthy fetid ground, taking Wes with it. Immediately he's set upon by three of the five shades, Wes stabbing frantically and striking out visciously with his foot, snapping it out and drawing it back in quickly lest a shade clamp down.*

Head for the cliffs, I'll catch up to you.