Imove fast, ducking beneath the butterflies, aiming for the central tree’s trunk.
My focus is on the part of the trunk that drips with black liquid, oozing thickly but freely now that the butterflies have lifted off the wood.
I’ve barely made it five steps when a chunk at the base of the tree separates from the rest of the wood, appearing as if the tree trunk is unraveling, twisting and turning at an impossible speed.
The transition ends with four of the low-lying branches descending and rotating toward me, now resting on the snow in a pouncing stance.
Together with the legs, the monster’s head and body separate from the tree, parts of what appeared to be branches sticking up and fanning out from its shoulders like spines.
This beast may seem to have formed from the tree, but it isn’t made out of wood. It was simply devouring the tree’s bark and cocooning itself within it.
It’s flesh and blood, a monstrous version of a snow leopard.
Only Blacksmiths could take such a beautiful animal and turn it into a dark creature such as this.
Its eyes are milky white, the color its fur ought to be, as it takes one look at its surroundings and immediately focuses on me.
It leaps right at me, its black teeth bared, sharp enough to tear me apart. It doesn’t make a sound. It’s a silent predator that doesn’t waste its breath on snarling or posturing, only survival.
Hell, there’s a part of me that relates to that.
I dart to the right, throwing myself beneath the creature as it sails in my direction. My left hand flies upward and I aim my blade for the soft flesh where the leopard’s front leg joins its body.
Usually, I can pierce a limb this way, ram my blade into the animal, and hobble it, bringing it to its knees. Then I can kill it swiftly.
I have no desire to cause it unnecessary pain.
But this leopard’s hide is thicker than most.
Despite my accurate aim, my knife glances across its skin without cutting it or even drawing blood.
Damn!
Worse than not bringing it down is the fact that it’s now facing my family and I’m several paces behind it.
I run and leap at the leopard’s back even as it regains its balance after my hit knocked it off course.
Up ahead, my father has brought several of the butterflies down with his hunting knife. The blade drips with gore. He ducks and rolls beneath the low-flying claws of one butterfly to leap up into the air at another, then rams his dagger through its pale body, bringing it down.
Thoren’s arrows fly quick and fast, but if my dagger couldn’t pierce the leopard’s hide, then his arrows won’t, either.
I can’t let the beast reach either of them.
The time it took the leopard to regain its balance is all I need to land on its back and knock it down, my dagger slashingtoward its backbone, right behind the sharp spines jutting from its shoulders.
I didn’t expect to do much damage, although I hoped I might. My intention is only to keep its focus on me and away from my family.
The leopard stumbles for a split second before it gets its feet under itself again. Its focus whips back toward me, its teeth gnashing as it spins and tries to reach me.
I know I need to throw myself off its back, but I take a chance to deflect its bite with one blade, using the opportunity to strike at its eye with the other.
It’s moving too fast and my dagger misses its eye socket, but to my surprise, the blade pierces the beast’s temple.
A weak spot!
The dagger slices across the leopard’s face, cutting in line with its movement before I listen to my survival instincts. My muscles bunch, preparing to carry me backward in a leap, but that’s when I realize I let the beast get too close.
The cut across its temple is deep enough to cause it significant pain but too shallow to lead to its death.
