“How did you do that?” He picks himself off the ground and crouches down in front of me.
“Do what?” I cock my head. When he arches an eyebrow, I huff out a resigned breath. “I can speak telepathically in this form.”
After two beats of silence, he says, “I have to admit that’s kind of awesome.”
“Does that mean you thinkI’mkind of awesome?” If I wasn’t in my gumiho form, I might have dissolved into a fit of giggles.Gods help me.I need to find food. Fast.
Ethan smirks but quickly sobers. “Your thigh. The wound is closing up, but it’s still bleeding.”
“Don’t worry about it. I heal even faster as a gumiho,” I rush to say before he can rip apart his only shirt to wrap up my leg. I can’t afford the distraction of a bare-chested Ethan. “What about you? Are you okay?”
His eyes don’t leave the gash on my hind leg—he’s clearly still worried about it. I lower myself to the ground, tucking my leg close to my body even though it hurts like hell to do so. He finally looks at my face and says, “I have a pounding headache, but I’m otherwise fine. That screech ... It felt like my head was about to explode.”
“Along with the rest of your internal organs. We wouldn’t have lasted much longer without the mountain’s help.” I lay my head down on the ground and feel a soothing pulse beneath me. “Can you pour a couple of mini liquor bottles on the roots of this tree? I want to thank them.”
“Was it the Seonangshin?” Ethan walks over to pick up my backpack several yards away.
“No, it was this mountain.” I breathe in the scent of earth, my eyes sliding closed. “Gumihos are beings of Mountains. We share the same life force, this mountain and I. Much of nature isn’t sentient, but I must’ve somehow awakened their primal need to protect one of their own.”
“Lucky us.” He pours the liquor on the ground and puts his hand on the tree trunk. “Thank you.”
I almost doze off but jerk awake with a snort. “The axes. Where did they come from?”
“I found them,” Ethan says, looking down at his hands. “You were fighting the golem, and I needed to help you, but I had ... nothing. No powers. No weapons. I was about to rush out with rocks in my hands, when I saw something glinting in the forest.
“It felt like I walked for miles following the light, but I couldn’t have. I could still see you behind me. I finally found a golden axe and a silver axe nestled in some moss under a tree. I would’ve come for you then but I ... couldn’t lift them.
“They were impossibly heavy, and I was about to give up. Then I saw you fall to your knees and ... I don’t know what happened. I just ... picked up the axes and went after the bastard.” He drags an unsteady handthrough his hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. I should’ve stopped him before he slashed your leg—”
“Stop, Ethan.” I go to him and nudge my nose against his hand. He cradles my head against his side, burying his fingers in my fur. I press closer to him, and we stand like that for a long moment. I sigh and break the silence. “I would’ve been pissed if you came running brandishing little rocks.”
He chuckles a bit wearily. “I guess the axes came in handy.”
Axes.A golden axe and a silver axe.A memory rises to the surface—an old, weathered face whispering strange and wonderful tales to a little girl.
“There’s a Korean folktale about a humble woodsman.” My thoughts drift far away, even though I’m still standing beside Ethan. “The woodsman loses his axe in the mountains, but the Spirit of Mountains, Sanshillyeong, comes to his aid.
“First, he shows the woodsman a silver axe, but the woodsman tells him that it’s not his axe. Then, the spirit shows him a golden axe, but the woodsman still tells him that it’s not his axe. Only when the Sanshillyeong returns with his old metal axe does the woodsman claim it as his own.
“The tale goes that the Spirit of Mountains gave the woodsman both the golden axe and the silver axe to reward him for his honesty.”
That isn’t the real ending to the story. At least, not the way my halmeoni told it. What was it? I chase the faint memory, but it floats away—again and again—just out of reach. It doesn’t matter. It’s just an old story.
Ethan has gone still next to me. “Are you telling me that the Spirit of Mountains left me those axes?”
I realize that’s exactly what I’m telling him.Then what does that make Ethan?Nothing. It doesn’t make him anything. Ethan is just ... Ethan. I shake out my fur and say with forced nonchalance, “All I’m saying is that someone out there is looking out for us.”
“We could use some of that.” Ethan straightens up, then frowns. “Wherearethe axes?”
“What?” I glance around.
“I dropped them on the ground right over here.” He circles the area where he’d fallen to his knees.
It’s the right spot. I see a puddle of blood across from it, where the assassin sliced through my thigh. What I don’t see are the axes.
“The Spirit of Mountains or not ... it’s not nice to give someone a gift, then ... take it back,” I complain in my head, groggy from exhaustion.
The ground rumbles beneath us, and I immediately duck my head. I am definitely not thinking straight. Sanshillyeong is one of the manifestations of the Seonangshin. If the Spirit of Mountains had indeed given Ethan the axes, then I need to keep my mouth shut—even if they took the axes back. The ground could’ve swallowed me whole for disrespecting the Seonangshin.
