Merrick is bigger than he looks, and he does not look small. His cloak is made of dozens of pelts, bound by fine gut. It smells like a bunch of dead things, which it is. His axe is rough, heavy and scary as hell.
He stalks them in the woods, caving skulls and ignoring the endless moans. Sometimes they claw at him with their cold, damp hands, and then things get interesting.
Merrick’s used to being alone, and killing the company that calls. So he isn’t sure what to think when he sees Helen through the trees, building a fire.