Its jaws snap at my forearm, its teeth closing around my limb and slicing through my leather armor.
A shot of fear strikes through me.
I can’t let it tear off my arm!
My other dagger flies toward its temple in a desperate bid to kill the beast.
But I can’t get the angle right.
The blade glances across the creature’s face as its teeth pierce my skin.
Pain shoots through my arm.
At that moment, a blur of gray appears at the corner of my eye. A predator of teeth and claws and unparalleled speed leaps at the leopard’s back.
Thud!
The wolf we call ‘Skirra’ rams into the leopard, whose jaws open a heartbeat before it tumbles across the snow, leaving a trail of black liquid behind it.
I crash back into the icy ground, my heart pounding as I roll to regain my footing.
Skirra is fast and strong, gnashing at the leopard’s face as he fights it with a fury that only a predator can achieve.
Snarls and claws and slashing teeth. Blurs of movement.
I watch with my heart in my throat, prepared to jump into the fight as soon as I see an opening.
Skirra is family, too. His pack followed my father from the far north to these mountains, where Skirra was born. We named him for his frightful speed and the terror that strikes our hearts to see him fight.
Thank the stars he’s on our side.
I take the briefest moment to check my arm, my heart sinking to see the gashes through my fur coat and armor, and the blood seeping between them.
The leopard has the scent of my blood now. If it escapes, it will follow us home and bring others of its kind with it.
I didn’t intend to let it live, but now the consequences of not killing it are far worse.
Only once before did we make the mistake of leaving a leopard alive after it had tasted our blood—Father’s blood, in that case—and we will never do that again.
I grip my daggers tightly, crouching and waiting for my chance to re-enter the fight. I can’t risk slashing Skirra by accident, but my fear is growing.
The leopard is twice Skirra’s size, and I can’t stand by and let it get the upper hand.
I’m preparing to jump back into the fight when the two animals crash across the clearing and knock into a nearby tree.The leopard hits the wood first and Skirra’s claws slash across its belly, spilling blood.
Another weak spot!
But it will be far harder for me to strike its stomach without exposing myself to its claws.
With a loud snarl—the first it’s made—the big cat darts to the side before Skirra can latch on to it again and races away through the trees.
At the corner of my vision, Father is covered in black ooze, but Thoren is still safely located behind the far tree. There are only a few butterflies left and I trust Father will finish them off soon enough.
He must have seen the blood on my arm because his sharp command reaches me a split second later. “Go, Erik! Go, now!”
I’m racing across the snow before his shouts fade.
I have no choice.
