If I don’t kill the beast now, my family will be in terrible danger.
The leopard is fast, but the cut across its face must be messing with its ability to orient itself because its path is more erratic than I expected. I didn’t think I blinded it when I stabbed at its eye, but I could be wrong.
Skirra rushes after it, giving chase far faster than I can on my human legs. But I have a few tricks up my sleeve, especially with Skirra’s help.
Up ahead, the wolf leaps at the leopard’s back, bringing it down, both animals tumbling through the debris once more. When the leopard jumps free, it heads toward the thicker undergrowth, where Skirra has steered it. It’s a harder path for the monster to travel.
I cut across the clear ground, veering right of the thicker trees, my arms and legs pumping as I sprint down the incline.
I’m horribly aware of the mark notched into the bark of a tree to my left. It’s a mark that indicates the boundary of our safe zone.
Father notched out the boundaries years ago and drilled into us the importance of never going past them. Traveling beyond this line of trees takes me closer to the walled city and risks detection by the Blacksmiths.
But once again, I don’t have a choice.
Speeding along the track, I take advantage of the sharper downward slope to increase my speed, hurtling forward. Much farther ahead of me, I can make out some sort of snowy clearing, but it’s difficult to see what lies beyond it.
For now, my focus is entirely on the sounds of the predators crashing through the foliage to my left and the fact that I’m now ahead of them, where I need to be.
Veering sharply in their direction, I swiftly deposit one of my daggers into its sheath, freeing my left hand.
The leopard shoots from the undergrowth right into my path.
I leap for its back, my left arm stretching for the spines across its shoulders, my fingers closing around one of them.
My intention is to gain enough of a hold that I can reach forward and ram my hunting knife into its right temple and end this monster once and for all.
The leopard is strong enough to rip me off my feet and carry me with it for all of three seconds before I realize my mistake.
Suddenly, the terrain that I couldn’t see before is rushing toward me.
A yawning chasm. The edge of a ravine.
I catch sight of snow drifts below me before the leopard leaps out into thin air, taking me with him.
Chapter 3
Ihave no time to think, only to respond by instinct.
My left arm bunches, muscles flexing as I shove myself as hard as I can away from the leopard. At the same time, I let go of my hunting knife. Wherever it lands, so be it.
I’m moving at breakneck speed as I plummet downward, my hands whipping back to snatch my bow and an arrow, which I nock in one swift movement.
The force of my shove has pushed the leopard slightly sideways.
I twist toward the leopard and let the arrow fly, praying that it will strike true.
My arrow arcs across the air and that’s all I see before I hit the ground.
There’s no such thing as soft snow when falling from a height.
My body crunches against the icy drifts. But I don’t have time to register the pain or shock of the impact.
All I know is that I didn’t break any bones—or if I did, I’m still functioning despite that fact.
The leopard smacks into the ground only a few paces away from me, the arrow jutting from its stomach right where I aimed it—into one of the cuts Skirra’s claws had already made.
Snatching up my remaining dagger, I swing myself toward the leopard, lunging as fast as I can while the beast snarls and struggles to get up.
