If only I were a little smaller. Human-sized.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my mask. The captain must have dropped it. It’s mercifully fallen to my side and appears to be intact, no doubt thanks to the magic within. If I put it on, my body will remain broken, but at least I’ll be able to wriggle free from this cage.
I reach for it, flexing with a claw and clipping the mask with a nail. It nearly rolls away, dragged down by the slope we’ve landed on. My broken bones scream with the effort, but I refuse to relent. No one’s going to help me, so I need to help myself.
My sisters were the last who tried, and look how well that ended.
When I finally manage to tip the mask toward me, I snatch it up. Pressing it to my face, my beastly form shrinks in an instant, the spell transforming me into a young woman, a tragic beauty since my body is but a mangled heap.
Now that the bars of the cage no longer have a hold on me, I drag myself over to inspect Sonam. I must look horrifying, my sweat-soaked hair over my face, awkwardly using my forearms and elbows to shift me forward on my belly like a beetle whose hindlegs were plucked off. I grit my teeth and fight through the pain.
The captain’s survival is nothing short of a miracle, though I might argue it a curse. He’s in far better condition than I am, just the one arm dislocated and twisted beneath him. Deep cuts mar his face, dark purple bruises around his eyes, his jaw, his nose. I can hear his strained heart thumping, his pulse irregular and weak. I hope he’s bleeding inside. I hope ithurts. Killing him may actually be a mercy.
I sink my fingers into the captain’s injured shoulder, determined to tear him open. Sonam cries out, eyes flying open, his face crumpling as he tries to shove me away. Now is as good a time as any to exact my revenge. The easiest meals come when they’re injured and alone, and the captain happens to be both.
The only problem is this meal knows how to fight.
Where I targeted his weakness, Sonam does the same. He kicks at my ruined knees, sweeping an arm to grip my side and squeeze my sore ribs. I fall back, gasping for air. He is on top of me, pinning my back to the ground as I scratch and hiss, the wild animal that I am.
I hit him, he hits me back—an explosive conversation with our fists.
It’s not that he’s strong enough to overpower me, but that our injuries have rendered us both equally weak. There’s a monstrousanger in his eyes, fiery and vicious. Burning with righteous hate. It’s nothing new. Mankind has looked upon me with disdain for so long that it would be shocking to see anything but.
He has the upper hand like this, but not for long. I drive my thigh up and kick him in the groin, watching with exhausted satisfaction when Sonam crumples, giving me a chance to push him away. I struggle to prop myself up on to my elbows. He does the same, his lip curled up in a bloodied sneer. He’s a vicious thing—even more vicious than I.
I’ve never been more terrified.
This man is going to be the death of me. All the more reason to finish him first.
But I don’t get the chance. Just as I gather the strength to pounce, Sonam pulls himself to his feet and scrambles away into the bleary dark.
“You bastard!” I scream, crawling after him. “Come back here and fight me, you coward!”
My voice breaks, shoulder-wracking sobs shoving their way out through my throat. Iron-hot tears race down my cheeks, and my heart twists violently in my chest. I don’t know what’s worse—to be left alone in the dark to die, or the fact that I wasn’t worth a killing blow.
Forcing air into my lungs, I will my nerves to steady. This is no time to cry. If the human wants to run, then let him. I will simply do what I do best. I push past the pain and drag myself forward on my stomach, my feet leaving bloody, dragging marks along the ground. They could very well be the only evidence I leave behind to prove my existence here.
Once more, I set forth to stalk my prey.
7Sonam
Hunting Log #373:
From what little I have managed to parse, nine-tailed foxes are known seductresses.
They use their beauty to lure victims into their waiting jaws.
The beast called me acoward, but I know better than to react. Any hunter worth his salt knows it is always better to retreat and regroup. Once I manage to catch my breath, I’ll eagerly return to kill it. Survival and strategy go hand in hand.
It’s closing in, maybe two li behind. I don’t dare stop to look and see. It’s in far worse shape than I am, the terrible scraping shuffle of its broken legs against the cold ground filling my ears like a taunt. A nightmare incarnate. The fall should have killed us both, yet it follows, ever hungry.
In truth, I haven’t the faintest idea where I’m going. There is only a sea of shadows swirling around me in a cold, dense fog. So dark are my surroundings that, when I hold out my hand, it disappears into the gloom.
Before me stands an endless abyss. Behind me crawls my demise.
I stumble over uneven ground, falling forward with no time to catch myself. I land on my dislocated shoulder, shards of glass scraping their way up my nerve endings. I try not to cry out, but a pained grunt squeezes through my clenched teeth.
The fox cackles. It’s an unnerving, manic laugh—high-pitched, like a child’s. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” it sings, the tune echoing into the measureless expanse.
