Chapter Text
Epaphroditus Quirinus Supremus Zahhak
It was spring, well into spring, the sky stark blue and bright, and the foehn downdrafts across the foothills did little to dissuade the blowflies decorating the gored and fallen cow.
I pawed the ground in anticipation, looking up at my Father, whose brow was furrowed deep in thoughtful concern. His hands were bloodied from examining the carcass, but he paid it no mind as he gazed off into the middle distance, tail idly twitching to ward off any flies who mistook the hide of his lower half as more dead meat on which to breed.
“Tell me what you observed,” Father finally broached the silence, turning towards me.
I forced my restless hoof into the ground, anchoring myself into stiff-postured stillness. I closed my eyes, visualizing: tracks in the grass, smeared blood, the fallen body. “The cow seems to have-"
"Seems?" His one-word question reminded me of my many oration lessons. A skill fundamental to a prospective leader.
I clenched my jaw, but persevered.
"Was attacked from behind, Sir. The predator leapt onto her back and used its rear claws to maul her hindquarters, then took her to the ground. It made swift work of pulverizing her rib cage, and gorged itself on her organs.”
“But one of the lungs was still partially intact. Why?” Father prompted me, expectantly, with the certainty that I would know the answer.
I recalled the broken arrow. “Guardsman Claudia attacked it, Sir. It abandoned its prey in order to... Take her down.”
Father nodded. “The herders brought her to the shaman with a shattered hind-leg and her drawing arm torn clean off. We don’t know whether she’ll wake up.” His voice was steady despite the gruesome news. I envied that steadiness, how my father was a bulwark of our people. I didn’t know if I could match it, or even mimic it, but it was my responsibility to try.
“The predator took Claudia’s arm and fled northwest, beyond the edge of our fields.” I said, steadying my voice, and traced an arc from the bloody soil where Claudia had been found towards the dark trees in the distance with a finger.
“It... Left a trail.” I said. A trail I can follow, unsaid. I tried to keep the nervous-excitement from my voice, but Father still stiffened, eyes narrowing at the fresh sweat trickling down my brow.
Father placed a calloused hand on my shoulder.
“Absolutely not. It was one thing when we thought it a mere opportunistic beast. Quite another when it had the mettle to attack one of our men head-on. I’m sorry, my son, but your debut hunt will need to wait until the next full moon. The warriors are already assembling a hunting party for the predator.” His voice hardened with the order: “You will remain here.”
I snorted, spinning away from Father’s grasp. “I will not. Father, this is my hunt. It was promised to me before the Herd Zahhak. You cannot give away what is mine by right!”
My heart raced as I rebuked my Father, my Principalem Magistratum Exsecutiva's command, and I set off at a trot, refusing to turn back. Already having crossed the line of decorum, I had no choice but to commit. “I’m to be a man. When a man, I will be a leader. A leader does not hide from danger. He protects his herd.”
Father grunted in consternation at my youthful hardheadedness. He was indulgent of me, I knew even then, but this transgression was enough that he may have punished my insolence, were it not his own words to me turned back upon himself. I heard hoofbeats as he followed.
“Circumstances have changed-“
“It is my right to slay this monster, ” I repeated petulantly, cutting him off.
"My son, it is your right," he acknowledged, trotting in front of me and blocking my path, "but you must see the wisdom in ceding this right for your own good. For the good of the herd. You cannot become a man and leader if you are hurt, or worse, depart from this life, rushing into a challenge before you are ready."
“Do you doubt me? How can our herd trust in my strength if my own Father cannot?” My eyes stung and nostrils flared, heat filling my head. "You knew this beast could fell a steer last week! To go back on your word now is not wisdom, it, it is-“ I rubbed at my eyes, unable to find the words. How could he not understand?
Father stepped closer, staring down over his mustache at me.
"You are strong, my boy, stronger than most. You've yet to reach your tenth year and already you train and fight like a man of twenty. I only worry your strength is not yet tempered with the years of experience to match. Some things are only learned with age, my son."
"Then let me age, Father. This is the coming of my manhood, the staking of my name. I do not wish to be known as the man who hid behind his Father's fetlock, whose first hunt scored only the pelt of a rabbit." Sweat dripped down my neck, visions of disrespect and disdain eternally following in my wake flashing before me.
Father’s gaze fell, a frown creasing the edges of his mouth down beyond even the prodigious length of his bristles. He drew in a tight breath.
"Legacy... It is a fickle thing. We must court it to ensure the traditions that protect us are respected and maintained, but not slave ourselves to it, such that our concerns become more steeped in the grandiosity of our graves than the flourishing of our people. I do not deny that this hunt is yours, by right of tradition, nor that so grand a quarry would cement your standing in the herd unquestionably, but..." He returned his gaze to me with the tender eyes of a father, rather than those of centauric authority. "You have not faced this manner of danger before."
"Have I not, Father?" I straightened my spine, defiance and pride burning in my belly. "Have I not wrestled down the champion of the Black Hills herd at Quinquatria? Have I not served nightwatch, and driven away wolves from our stock?" I paused, jutting out my chin. “Father, I have exceeded your expectations before. You bore me to the council of an ancient vampire, a warlord of unspeakable power and threat, and I found fast alliance with her only heir, the only other being who shares in her strength. I know danger.”
Father’s eyes closed briefly as a pained expression flashed across his face. “Yes, I suppose you have.”
My heart stuttered. I was gaining ground! “I will be just as safe with my hunting party tonight as I am with our guards in the Pharaoh’s court.”
"Yes, I suppose you would." Father crossed his arms behind his back and stared off into the woods.
He was silent for a long moment. Wind whipped our tails, carrying with it distant sounds of the herd. Somewhere in that bustling, I knew, would be the hunting party, gathering provisions and stocking their quivers. I tried to keep from shifting impatiently, but I knew time was short. If I was going to join them, it would need to be soon.
Finally, Father stirred from his stillness, moving out of my way. “I will inform the hunters. I suppose you’d better gather your things - including your leathers. We still don’t know what you’re hunting.”
“Thank you Father,” I smiled broadly, then kicked off in a gallop for our tent.
I kept my grip tight on my bow, ready to draw, as I led the hunting party through the forest. Ostensibly, I was meant to be tracking our quarry, but the trail of destruction was obvious. Spruce trees were torn down, underbrush flattened, soil scored by deep clawmarks. The smell of Claudia’s blood hung in the air, flecks dotting the ground. The creature was far enough ahead that I couldn’t hear it, but the disturbance not quite so old that the forest creatures had resumed their own chatter.
Sweat beaded at my brow as I continued our pursuit, aware of eyes on the nape of my neck. Father had insisted upon Uncle Caius’s presence, and I knew he was there to intercede and take charge should the quarry prove beyond my abilities.
He would not interfere otherwise, leaving me to hope I was approaching my task correctly, that having us keep a careful walk until the creature tired was better than running it down at a full gallop.
The eerie silence of the frightened wildlife pressed down on me as we carried on, the pressure only heightened by the sun's rapid descent below the horizon. Once the sun set completely, I’d have to make a choice - whether to push on into the night, or stop and make camp. I was leaning towards the former, but had yet to voice my decision.
My gaze raked over yet another felled tree, sides streaked in mud from the puddle it had landed in -
“Stop,” I barked out the order, eyes locked on the shape pressed into the mud. I stowed my bow and kneeled nearby, needing a closer look.
It was some sort of paw print, but the shape was all wrong, nothing like that of a wolf or bear. The four toes were long and splayed, with extended claws gauging narrow holes into the muck, while the meat of the paw was rounder than expected, and was the deepest part of the print, like the thing was keeping pressure off its toes. I wondered if Claudia's arrow had managed to wound the digits, somehow. As I leaned back, to scan the wider area around the print, my attention fell upon a part of the track I'd missed. Anticipating a bear, I had only looked for toes at the front of the print. What I saw then was another protrusion, from the side of the paw. Another... Toe? A pit in my stomach grew as I lowered my hand and held it over the print. The hand print.
The shadows of the hunting party fell over me, the four whispering amongst themselves as they examined the print. I continued to stare at the similarity between my hand and the shape in the mud.
“It has a thumb.” Sextus broke the silence, a nervous edge to their voice. “What under Jupiter's skies is that big and has a thumb?”
Distinctive white fetlocks edged into my vision, a hoof landing with finality next to my hand. “A killer,” Caius said shortly, “Epaphroditus, your orders?”
I swallowed roughly. “We continue on as planned, follow the trail into the night. Whatever it is, it will tire. And when it does, we’ll put it down.” I hoped my voice held steady, that the racing of my heart wasn’t given away. I reached for my side pack, removing a small notepad and ballpoint pen. I sketched out the paw print, ignoring the silent judgement from the others at the human materials in my hands. They were just so convenient, and it would be foolish to neglect any advantages my proximity to our allies provided.
I stood with a sigh, stowing the pad and pen. “Let’s move out.”
I resumed my place at the head of the formation, Sextus and Valeria just behind, Quintus and Caius bringing up the rear. Bow in hand, I set off, following the trail of destruction.
The sun cast long shadows as it continued its descent, deepening the darkness created by the thickening forest. I kept waiting for the sounds of night creatures to swell up around me, hooting of owls and screeching of bats, but all was silent, breath baited. Our quarry had terrified the denizens of these woods, leaving the sound of our hoofprints far louder than I was comfortable with. I felt as though all eyes were on us, a silent chorus judging our performance. My performance.
My ears, straining for the sound of the beast somewhere far ahead, instead picked up the faint sounds of Sextus and Valeria behind me.
“Have you ever -“
"- seen in my life!"
I sighed, slowing my footfalls just enough for them to come into comfortable speaking range. The young adults towered over me, and I envied the strength evident in their motions.
“You two have something to report?” I interjected, looking up and between them as they crossed to my sides. They both sputtered, embarrassed at my catching their lack of decorum, no doubt.
“No, Hunt-Master, I have nothing to report,” Sextus replied, shooting a dark look at their companion.
Valeria rolled her eyes in response, but spoke up anyway. “We were simply musing on how little we can report, what with this creature being unidentifiable. We have no counsel which to provide on something we have never faced.”
I nodded solemnly. “I understand the strain you are under, having no knowledge to provide. This hunt is anything but conventional.”
The two exchanged another glance, this one more loaded. I frowned. “Unless you have something more… speculative, to put forth?”
“No, we have nothing,” Sextus repeated.
They were definitely nursing their own theory. The question was whether it was one worth pursuing. “If you insist,” I replied, and with a flick of my tail, I pulled ahead of them, refocusing on the trail. There were less broken trees now, I realized. Perhaps the beast had slowed its retreat, was better able to evade obstacles?
The last glimmers of sunlight faded from the world, plunging us into darkness barely broken by the glow of the full moon, so thick were the trees overhead. Were it not for the trail of trampled bushes, I’d be starting to worry. As it was, I knew the chances of me spotting another clue as to the beast’s origins were slim, even as I carefully examined the ground as I went. I could tell from the destruction that it was fully equipped with deadly claws on fore and hind, but that was hardly new information. I was venturing into the true unknown.
It was clear that even the experienced hunters were put on edge as we followed. Nothing about this hunt was ordinary. The wrongness of it all piled up in my mind with each careful hooffall.
The repeated, elusive attacks across several weeks, building up from what they thought were the actions of a small scavenger, to calves, then finally a cow.
The power needed to take down a grown guardsman, and to crush one limb and fully cleave another from its joint.
Then, that strange, humanoid handprint. That ceaseless trail of destruction through the forest. Not only brush flattened, but tree limbs snapped and dangling, as though yanked downward. The apparent pace of the beast, to have forged so long a path in the few hours between its attack and our departure.
All of it was crowned by my own presence on the hunt. The youngest among them leading it. Prodigy though I was, it would have been foolish to assume my presence inspired any confidence in my fellow hunters. First hunts were matters of ceremony, the stakes of which were often great for the young men whose mettle was being tested, but rarely a matter of life or death.
A dark shadow of doubt began creeping in my mind that I ought to have listened to Father's protests. A dark shadow quickly quashed, however.
We were hours into the hunt, hours away from the herd, and firm, steady leadership would be vital when we fell upon the beast.
Or when the beast fell upon us, a phantom of fear spoke within my mind. I gripped my bow tight. I would not allow fear to take root.
I would fell the beast, I would return triumphant, and I would wear its skin across my shoulders as my Father proclaimed me a man. I held my chin high, and we carried on in silence.
Hours passed in the unsettling quiet of the wood, and the trail never faltered, arrows perched hungrily on our bowstrings as we cantered through the cleared path.
Perhaps once an hour, a brave or foolish owl or bird would call out somewhere in the branches, more than once causing bows to be drawn.
I'd almost began to worry we were losing ground, that the tracks were growing stale, but finally, after so long in increasingly dense wood, the trail spilled out into a large clearing bathed in moonlight.
By this point, the moon was at its apex, casting every detail into sharp relief. I hesitantly stepped forward, nostrils flaring at the smell of Claudia’s blood. Behind me, I heard a quiet gasp.
The clearing was empty of the creature, but it had left behind traces of its presence. More of those strange prints, now streaked in blood, decorated the ground, which itself was dappled with flecks of flesh and bone.
“It stopped here to feast on the spoils,” I murmured, feeling Caius’s eyes upon me. I raked the edges of the clearing until I spotted a new section of flattened brush, jutting off to the east. “We may be closing in on it. Search the clearing, then we press on.”
We spread out across the clearing, and a glint caught my eye, slowing my steps. I leaned down, fingers brushing blood crusted grass. A bracelet, bright silver in the moonlight, one distinctively centaur-make. The only thing remaining from Claudia’s arm.
I placed it in my bag, then readjusted my bow. She might not wake up. It was my job to avenge her.
“Aaaah!” A panicked scream broke the silence as something large burst out of the path we’d emerged from, snarling and leaping at Quintus. I shot to my feet, turning, drawing my bow and nocking an arrow with the speed of instinct.
My eyes locked upon Quintus stumbling with the weight of his assailant, which roared mightily as it scored his back with its claws, but even with Quintus buckling and struggling, it was no issue to aim true.
I let out a breath and released the bowstring.
Snap. The arrow shot out, piercing the hindleg. It snarled in pain, releasing Quintus and dropping to the forest floor.
It was far larger than I'd expected, nearly the size of the adults' lower halves, and feline. A massive, fierce, beautiful mountain lion snarled, ears back flat, staring at me with eyes that bored into me like they were tracing my features. Remembering them. What?
I reached for my quiver, nocking another arrow. Sextus had reached Quintus, dragging the injured man away from my quarry. Behind me, near the forward path, I heard Caius and Valeria draw their own bows. They wouldn’t fire unless I faltered. It was up to me now.
How had it gotten behind us? The thought flashed through my mind as I pulled back the bowstring. The beast's muscles rippled beneath its fur as it tensed. It was going to leap at me. I only had one more shot.
It leapt, and I released, and the world moved in slow motion.
I watched my arrow rip through the air, and knew it would hit dead center - had only my target been leaping toward me. But the beast had shot past me to the west, not at me at all, and the arrow thunked harmlessly into a tree.
“No!” I shouted, turning swiftly and kicking into a gallop. I wouldn’t let it escape. I couldn’t.
The feline had not cut across the clearing for its prior trail, instead barreling directly into the thickets that lined the open space, and I followed. Branches whipped past my face and underbrush snapped against my ankles as I delved deeper into the heart of the forest, heedless to the calls of the party behind me.
It seemed my arrow hardly slowed its flight, as it dodged trees and cleared bushes with an unexpectedly sinewy grace. For my part, it was all I could do to keep my footing sure as the foliage battered me in my passage.
I couldn’t afford to lift my bow, afraid it would be knocked askew by the thickening forest.
It ducked down beneath a rocky outcropping, and I unhesitatingly followed. Though I tucked myself small, my right shoulder still scraped the stone, and for a moment fear shot through me. Were the beast to turn around, I couldn’t fight back.
I redoubled my speed with the moment of panic, then burst into the open, the chase resuming. The ground between us grew, more and more trees blocking my view, thicker bushes catching against my legs. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to run faster. I could not allow myself to lose sight of it. It barely left a trace as it twisted around low branches and leapt from the sides of boulders, and I would be unable to trace blood by mere moonlight filtered through thick canopy. I would certainly not be able to do so in unfamiliar forest, my own tracks covered by the springy green shrubs of late spring.
Sweat clung to my sides as I ran, heart hammering in my chest. I wondered how long I could keep this up. How long the mountain lion could keep this up, with my arrow buried in its leg. I had to outlast it.
I couldn’t understand why, how, it was acting this way - it was so much more agile than the trail I’d been following. Almost as if it had been purposefully designed to lead us to the clearing. But that couldn’t be right. Mountain lions didn’t make traps for their quarry, not any I had heard of, and it was then my mind returned to the lion's eyes - not only the cunning of a wily beast behind them, but a certainty of gaze that spoke of thoughts - intelligence.
The moon, the full moon, gleamed mockingly overhead. I shuddered. The print I’d sketched, complete with thumb, flashed before my mind’s eye. It must have left it before the moon rose, before the change was complete. I was chasing a werelion at the height of its power.
As though sensing the direction of my thoughts, the werelion snarled in mocking confirmation, and I shouted back in wordless fury. Werebeasts were a rare sight to behold, their constantly changing features keeping them in wild places on the waxing of the month, yet able to blend among humans during the waning. They retained sapience for most of that time, which meant this thing knew what it was doing when it mutilated Claudia.
Distracted as I was by my thoughts, I clipped my right shoulder on a tree, pain flaring down my arm. My grip on my bow slipped, and as I stumbled from my own momentum, I fumbled to secure it with my left hand.
My vision swam as I careened forward. The silver light of the moon, despite the lateness of the hour, barely penetrated the world around me, barely caught against the golden fur of my quarry. I kept my gaze desperately locked on it even as my legs shook with strain. I was designed to run, yes, but not through woods as thick as these.
For a brief moment I thought I’d lost the lion entirely, but then it crested another boulder and my footing regained its certainty, bow safe in my off hand. It was moving too fast for me to shoot it anyway, so I focused on the chase.
The terrain was peppered with more boulders, ground sloping upward. It was leading me into higher terrain, I realized, feeling my hooves slipping on a stoney patch of ground. It knew I was no mountain mule, that it had the advantage as it climbed.
I was forced to glance away from the fleeing monster, to pick my way forward more carefully to avoid poor footing. The moonlight caught something dark and gleaming - blood. There were larger splatters now, more visible as I climbed. So my arrow had done some damage after all. This heartened me, knowing that even as my muscles burned with exertion, my quarry’s frantic flight was driving the arrow deeper, tearing itself apart with each mighty leap. I could afford to slow down. It was going to slow down more.
I glanced up again, and saw I was right - it had not outpaced me, even with my reduced speed. We had been running for so long that the angle of the moonlight had shifted, that my sides were soaked in sweat. The werelion was midleap as I watched it, and it came down hard, injured leg shooting out to the side. It stumbled. My heart leapt in excitement, and I grabbed for an arrow, determined to shoot it again.
It was as I drew back the arrow, right shoulder flaring in protest, that it regained its footing. I grit my teeth and released, then immediately pulled another arrow from the quiver, hurrying forward.
The arrow went wide, scoring a glancing blow to the werelion’s shoulder as it shot past, a bright line of blood flowing from the wound. The lion turned back towards me and snarled. I nocked my next arrow -
And it spun and disappeared, surging into the darkness of the next thicket. I grimaced, lowering the bow but keeping the arrow at hand, and resumed my ascent.
We were both breathing heavily now, air thick with sweat and blood. I didn’t need to see it, able to hear its passage just as well as my own. The trees thinned out, more angled moonlight reaching down, but thick underbrush and boulders continued to slow me down and block direct sight of it. I struggled forward, following my wounded quarry. Waiting for my moment.
There. It had paused again, leaning heavily against a tree. I drew, feeling again the flare of pain in my shoulder, the tremble in my arm. Center mass, I urged myself, aiming.
With a twang, the arrow flew, and I reached for my next arrow, drawing it back and sending it to chase its fellow, aiming slightly up and ahead in case I spooked it.
Instead, the first arrow went too low, whizzing under the werelion’s belly. Another grazing shot. Instead of it bolting forward into the path of my second bolt, it jerked backwards, and the second arrow did little more than brush the air near its face. I fumbled for my next arrow, a curse barely choked on my lips. I was bloodying it, but not enough to bring it down. If it escaped me enough to rest, those superficial wounds would heal, and heal fast.
It roared in rage, pawing at itself as though cataloging its injuries. It glared at me with hate. Was it going to come at me again?
No. The fresh fear fueled it into a burst of speed, and it shot off through the trees. I was forced into a gallop once again to follow, lungs burning as I poured whatever I had left into keeping it in sight, raising my bow again. My whole arm screamed.
Mid stride, I let the arrow fly, aiming for the blood soaked leg. I needed it to fall.
It missed. I missed. How could I be missing?
I jumped over a boulder, barely clearing it, landing with a splatter of my own sweat-stained blood. Cuts from the foliage and bruises were piling up. My aim was no longer true.
It was pulling ahead again. I had to clear that distance.
Darkness pooled around me as I followed it up the slope at nerve-wracking speed, knowing one wrong move would send me crashing to the ground. But I needed another shot, and that need propelled me forward, kept my eyes locked on my target, kept my hand searching for my next arrow.
My hand came up empty for a moment, sending me into a panic. Was I out of arrows already? I risked a glance at my quiver. No, still half full. But missing more than I’d shot. I must have lost some in the pursuit.
I grabbed two, nocking one and pinching the other with my fingers for a fast reload. The bushes were thinning out, and more boulders were coming than trees, leaving more vision to see my quarry. I knew shooting at a gallop was not my forte, knew I was flagging, but any chance at injuring it further had to be taken. My hunting party hadn’t followed my pursuit. It was entirely up to me.
The werelion clawed up a fallen tree, which dangled across a uniform darkness. Flattening itself against the log, it crept across the tree, which trembled. I hurried closer, drawing back the arrow. I forced myself to breathe deep. To steady my shaking arm. To slow myself just enough to find my aim.
The arrow flashed as it flew, and I hurried to nock the other arrow. I sent a desperate prayer to Diana.
Please.
The werelion wailed piteously as the arrow sank through its tail, pinning it to the tree. It reminded me of the sounds of one of the cats kept by the desert vampires, which the Pharaoh's heir once insisted I hold. I steeled my heart against the memory, remembering the bracelet in my satchel, remembering my purpose here. I watched it thrash, blood spattering as it tore its tail free. The tree shook threateningly with the weight of its movements, and it was forced to scramble as the tree rolled towards the side, unable to flee further as it fought for balance.
I felt a flash of confidence spurring me closer, wary of the darkness below the tree. Dimming moonlight barely sparkled against it, and I realized the tree bridged a river. My heartbeat in my ears drowned out the rush of the water. I couldn’t tell how deep it may be, or how fast it flowed.
The heavenly virgin was with me, I thought, as I surged closer. I readied my next arrow. I needed to bring it down and drag it to shore. So eager were my movements that I barely felt the dampness of water at my ankles, charging into the river, eyes locked on the helpless quarry. I drew in a breath, stretched the bowstring across my chest, the point of my arrow dead-center with the lion's heart... And my next step found no purchase.
The shore dropped out from beneath me.
I stumbled.
I heard a mighty splash as I hit the water hard.
I felt the icy shock of the river surging over me.
I flailed.
I lost my grip on my bow.
I frantically grabbed for purchase, hooves scrabbling against the riverbed as the water dragged me.
My head went under once.
Then again.
Then a third time.
It was deep. It was so very deep.
Water filled my mouth. I sputtered, fighting to find sky and shore. As my legs kicked, one hooked into something crooked and vicious beneath the water, then tore free, but I had no time to register the pain.
My body slammed into something hard. I clung to it desperately. It was a boulder, slippery with moss. I dragged myself against it, forcing my hooves underneath me, until finally I found a purchase. I looked around in a panic.
I was in the middle of the river, which came up to my chest. I couldn’t see the tree the werelion had used to cross. Water stung my eyes and burned my throat. My hands ached from gripping the boulder.
Slowly, laboriously, I pulled myself along the boulder, using it as an anchor as I fought the flow of the river to cross it. By the time I reached the boulder’s edge, the riverbank had risen, water falling near my waist, my footing more sure. I carefully released the boulder and dragged each hoof forward, careful to keep my weight firmly planted. Every inch of my body was battered, and I nearly lost my purchase several times. But I pressed on as the water fell away, until finally I reached the far shore.
I collapsed on the embankment, gasping for breath, trembling with exhaustion. I was drained of all energy. I coughed, water streaming from my body, feeling my lungs spasm as water was expelled. My vision swam and spotted.
It was all I could do to keep darkness from utterly taking me.
The Lioness
The lioness watched in stunned silence as the horse-thing was carried off by the river. He'd dropped his weapon, and it snarled smugly as it disappeared beneath the water. The lowering moon caressed the lioness’s fur as it lit the scene, filling it with fresh power. Now that the danger had passed, it could feel the other retreating into the corner of their mind, the panic subsiding.
The lioness crossed the fallen tree. It knew any wrong move would send it into the river with the horse-thing. Its tail, which should have provided much-needed balance, was compromised, sending flares of pain up its spine. It panted with the heat of the chase, catching what breath it could while still slinking along the wood, digging in firmly with its claws.
At last, the lioness flowed off the end of the tree and onto the rocky shore, eager to put more distance between it and the horse-thing’s herdmates.
Its stomach rumbled angrily. It had meant to spend its moon-time hunting, drawn to the smell of cattle-blood. It snarled, remembering the field with the tantalizing smell of blood and flesh, entirely blocked by a wall of horse-things, and their strange fire bowls and colored skins hung upon carved saplings. Far too many for it to get past.
It had been pleased to find the trail of destruction, and eager to follow the horse-things into the forest. The horse-blood had made its mouth water, and it was sure the small herd would be easy to hunt.
Its injuries protested this assessment. There was wood in its tail, cold stone in its hindleg, and cuts across its belly and shoulder. These horse-things were more trouble than they were worth, and now the moon was low and it had yet to satiate itself. It needed to hunt to heal, but it had lost too much blood. It was sure the prey-beasts would smell it coming.
Ears flattened with displeasure, it drank deeply from the river. It lapped up great mouthfuls of water and soaked its muzzle. It wanted to remain by the river, where the fish couldn't scent its approach. But it knew it needed to flee further before it could rest.
It took one final lap from the water, enjoying the way the cold soothed its throat, then forced itself away, shaking its head to dry its maw. It needed to find shelter.
It began to drag itself away from the riverbank, feeling the movement shift the stone and stick inside it. More blood poured from its wounds, and the pain pounded with each beat of its heart.
A splash came from the river, and it turned back, claws ready, sure the horse-thing was back. But there was no sign of an assailant, only the ripple in the water left behind by a fish.
Its mouth watered. It was so hungry.
Slowly, it approached the water again, scanning the shimmer made by the moon upon it. Of course, the juicy, greedy fishes that hid so coyly in the weeds beneath the banks during the day, rose to the shallows to feast upon the bugs and pollywogs in the darkness.
It shifted its weight, primed to strike the water with a paw, ravenous excitement twitching its tail. It ignored the pain, utterly focused. The moon blessed it, surely the moon would provide . . .
There! Spotting a difference in the shimmer, it struck, claws sinking into the glimmering body of a fat fish. It dragged the writhing prey from the water, burying its teeth in with wild abandon.
It made short work of the fish, a few bites all it needed to leave behind nothing but a few scattered scales and drops of blood. It licked its maw, eyes returning to the river. It scanned the opposite shore, listening for hoofbeats. There was nothing. It was alone.
It wanted more; needed more. One little minnow wasn’t enough to satiate it. It wouldn’t hurt to catch another . . .
It was several fish later, the moon several times lower, that the pain of its injuries grew louder than the hunger. As did the noise of the other inside it, wrowling about danger.
It took a few more languid laps of water, just to prove it could, then left the shore behind.
The awareness was creeping in, and with it came uncertainty. Things were too complicated. It didn’t like this territory. It wanted to get far away.
It increased its pace, but there was a heaviness to its steps. It couldn’t summon the energy to bound away, to put thousands of footfalls between itself and the danger. All it could do was limp forward, avoiding putting too much weight on its injured leg.
The cuts on its belly and shoulder had closed while it feasted. A small favor of the moonlight, but it would not eject the horse-thing's weapons.
As though intent on aggravating it, its tail caught on a snarl of shrubs, the wood stick making it snag. It snarled in fury, and whipped around to its tail, fighting through the pain to flick it up and out of the bush. It brought its tail before its eyes, twisting awkwardly to bring the injury close to its mouth.
The thing piercing it was indeed a stick. Unnaturally straight and rank with the smell of horse-thing. Stuck to one end were tufts that looked like feathers, only just as unnaturally shaped as the stick, and whatever may have been stuck on the other end had snapped off, leaving only broken wood. It bit the stick and tore it from its tail with a small spray of blood. Its yowl of pain was muffled as it chomped the stick into three small pieces and spat them onto the forest floor.
It glared at the offending stick, then licked at its tail, trying to clean the wound of any trace of horse-thing.
It wrinkled its nose, and resumed its tired trek away from the river. It had caught its breath, it had fed, watered, and liberated itself of one of the weapons piercing it, but still felt the grating, ripping pain in its hind leg. The wound had spilled much blood, and it felt the resulting slowness lacing through its every motion.
A shift in the clouds allowed the lunar light to fall upon it, and it bared its teeth at the long, faint shadows being cast. The rapture of the moon, its night of control, would soon end. The other thing would take the body once again, and it would return to slumber, for a time.
As it limped through the mountainous forest, it tried to take pleasure in its last sensations. The brisk, clean wind across its whiskers. The lingering tang of fish on the back of its tongue. It was growing tired, and its leg hurt and was cold.
It lurched, its gait growing unsteady. The pain in its tail was fading, the senses of its whiskers rapidly disappearing as well.
The lioness would be gone soon. By way of its ceaseless cycle, or the wound it had suffered growing too much to bear.
It clawed itself over a fallen tree, hind leg not moving at all, and finding on the other side a rocky overhang, a shallow cave, well-hidden and unclaimed. Perfectly sized.
A last gift from the moonlight?
The lioness slumped into the shadow of the cave, crawling barely out of sight of the forest. It curled in on itself, peering out from the cave entrance. It would not be able to defend itself if something attacked, but instinct demanded it remain vigilant.
Over the trees, the sky turned purple.