The blackmaw beggar - as Sano had taken to calling it - turned out to be a rather lousy road companion. Its legs were longer than Beaten Dog was tall, yet it always dawdled at the back, citing hunger or thirst or sometimes lack of drunkenness. When it wasn't making juvenile jokes at Sano's expense or loudly complaining, it filled the air with out of tune, dust-ridden warsong.
Sano regretted taking the beggar along a little, but there was not much she could do about it now. Like a limpet, it would cling to them no matter what direction they went. Besides the guilt she felt for ridding it of its one source of food, there were upsides as well.
The beggar was better than either of them at scavenging. It identified everything; roots, plant matter, anything poisonous. It also hunted, with frightening efficiency. When night approached, before Sano could say anything, it would slink off into the dark and come back with a kill slung over its shoulder. It rarely ate its prey, however - the only thing that seemed to truly whet the beggar's appetite was alcohol.
"Ever partaken?" it asked Sano once on their trudging journey through a windstorm.
Sano stuck out her tongue. "The drink that makes you cough up black stuff? Why would I?"
The beggar laughed. "It makes you forget things. Valuable skill. You'll learn when you get older, girl."
Together they inched along the Road, taking the beggar's lead. The beggar led them down a strange offshoot which trailed down the side of a yawning canyon.
As it continued, the path narrowed to the size of a single foothold. Sano and the rest had to walk carefully, one step at a time, in single file so as not to fall.
"Hail there, travelers!" Up ahead, ringing like a bell, a lilting voice echoed through the crevasse. "What fortune I have to come upon you!"
"What the hell is that," said the blackmaw beggar from the back of the line, unable to see.
The wind blew a pleasant floral scent as a figure rose up the road in front of them, elegantly stepping between the sparse footholds on stilted shoes. Their flowing robes were intricately embroidered with flowers. Two horns sprouted from the sides of their head, curling up towards the sky. Emblazoned on their forehead was a symbol of three petals, the bottommost a pale pink, the topmost bright gold.
Sano was reminded of one of her mother's teacups - something finely crafted, beautiful and delicate.
"Greetings!" said the beautiful figure. "My name is Yan Aurata Disa of the Order of Petals. I hail from a monastery in the red valleys of the North, where the nine great monks meditate and contemplate the universe. I journey now to spread their teachings, and bring enlightenment forth to Purgatory."
"You're blocking the path, dipshit," groused the blackmaw beggar, "Do us a favor and jump into the canyon."
The petal monk's delicate smile did not break at the beggar's heckling, but it did strain slightly.
"Young one!" They bowed gracefully in Sano's direction. "Are you partaking in a pilgrimage?"
"Um," mumbled Sano, confused, "Yes."
"My, my... at such a young age. What an undertaking." They shook their head in pity. "Pray tell, what is the goal of your holy journey?"
"Um, I'm gonna go to Hell," said Sano, "And meet an angel killer, and maybe kill him with a sword cause he stepped on my house and everybody died."
There was a long, excruciating pause.
"I see!" chirped the monk.
"Well young lady, it seems as though fortune has befallen us! I am also on my way to Hell. Now that I hear your goal, I must pause my ventures immediately and travel alongside you, for there is no one more deserving of the Nine Monks' teachings than Purgatory's youth. You're on a dark warpath, young one. Far too much bloodshed for someone your age! You need guidance towards the light."
The monk closed their eyes and balled a fist in front of their chest. "I, student of the Nine, take it as my responsibility to be that guide. To teach you that violence... is not the answer."
"Like hell you will!" said the blackmaw beggar. "She's going there to do violence, else I kill everyone here and then myself."
The monk gave the beggar a beauteous, thin-lipped smile. "More than one of you requires enlightenment, it seems! Not to worry - the teachings of the Petals do not discriminate. All shall be taught delicacy in time."
And so they stepped backwards, fleet-footed, effortlessly bypassing the gravel road by stepping through the air.
"Asshole," grumbled the beggar.
"I shall meet you where the paths emerge from the cliffside!" called the monk from afar. "It might take some time, but when the Road settles, our disparate speeds shall surely converge!"
"You're going the wrong way," the beggar called back, and pointed a long, soot-stained digit. "Hell's that direction."
The monk quickly pedal-footed through the air in the opposite direction they'd been heading. "So it is!"
And they disappeared past the crevasse.
Sano looked at Beaten Dog, then at the beggar.
"Do you really think they're going to travel with us all the way to Hell? Should we make them go away?"
Beaten Dog shrugged.
"I've half a mind to cut that bastard out of the sky," the beggar growled, "but more bodies in a party means more meat shields if we need them. Besides I want to prove them wrong almost as much as I wanna see you pop an angel killer's head off."
Sano frowned. She still had very little idea of how she was supposed to do that.
"All likelihood, they'll run home crying to the monastery within a few weeks," the beggar continued. "Demons like them ain't built for life out here."
"What do you mean, like them?"
"Demons what haven't gone through nothing, never seen nothing. Live and grow and hatch behind closed walls." The beggar hit its chest and let out a belch. "Word of advice, girl. If a demon tells you he knows something of the world, and his hands are smooth and untouched like a newborn babe's, it's bullshit. Doesn't matter if he's lying or not."
Sano tried to recall what the monk's hands looked like in between the diaphanous folds of fabric. They had been very delicate and slender indeed.
She looked at the beggar's hands, scorched black by the sun and filed rough by sand. At Beaten Dog's hands, lined with scars from Swordmaster's disciplinary beatings.
Then she looked down at her own - scaly and cracked and calloused where she held her sword.
"Maybe you're right," she told the beggar, before beginning the precarious trudge down the path once again.