My knife meets its temple and I ram the blade down.
Then I throw myself in the other direction, tumbling clear of its thrashing claws.
I come up into a crouch, my blood rushing in my ears and my breathing rapid as I wait for the leopard’s next move.
I’m aware of Skirra landing nimbly a few paces away. He must have paused at the top of the ravine but only for a second. His ability to leap and land so easily is just another testament to his wolfish nature.
He rushes to my side, growling and snapping his teeth at the leopard, slowly calming as the beast stays down.
Its chest stops rising and falling and its eyes… finally become vacant.
I sigh into the silence.
This leopard may once have been a beautiful creature, not a mindless predator.
I quickly assess my surroundings, taking stock of the sharp cliff faces twenty paces away on either side of me, the way the ravine curves both ahead and behind me so I can’t see much beyond the immediate clearing, and the way the breeze whistles softly as it flows through the chilled air.
Now that I’ve ascertained there are no immediate threats in the vicinity, I rise to my feet and approach the leopard carefully, watching to make sure all life signs are gone before I take a knee beside it.
I press my hand to its shoulder behind its spines and close my eyes for a moment.
My father didn’t bring all of his peoples’ beliefs and customs with him, but acknowledging the strength of a fierce creature, before its spirit departs, was one of them.
“You have a strong spirit and you fought well,” I murmur to the leopard. “May you fill your belly in the Hall of Warriors and sleep by the warmth of the eternal light.”
Opening my eyes, I retrieve the arrow from its body. Then I lean back and finally check my arm.
Damn. The puncture wounds are worse than I thought.
Skirra, too, is bleeding from a slash across his shoulder, presumably from the leopard’s claws or teeth.
A bite from any of these malformed animals can sicken the flesh and cause it to rot, but a bite from a leopard can bring on the sickness faster.
I check my left hand, but the abrasions where I gripped the creature’s rough spine are superficial.
I’ll have bruises from my fall but nothing in that regard that won’t heal within a week.
I have a choice to make now, about whether or not I should access the light in my heart to speed the healing process or take the chance that my body will heal itself.
It’s a power that my father’s people revere and spend their whole lives building and cultivating. A spark of light that all humans have, but few are aware of. Even fewer know how to use it.
My father’s people do. They are Einherjar, the ones who fight with light. His father taught him how to cultivate and harness his deep light, and he taught Thoren and me.
But our light is limited and as such, it shouldn’t be used unnecessarily. Judging by the shallow depth of the punctures in my arm, I have a little time to decide. I’ll seek my father’s wisdom first.
In the meantime, I need to check Skirra’s wound more carefully and then get back to my family.
Bending to Skirra, I check the gash, relieved to find it isn’t deep and the blood within it is a healthy red color—no sign of the black sludge from the creature’s body.
I’m about to rise to my feet when Skirra gives a soft whine, an uncharacteristically fearful sound.
His eyes are forward, his head lowered toward the ground, his focus on the curve in the ravine fifty paces away.
I study the terrain near the curve more carefully, making out lumps in the snowy ground ahead, but it’s difficult to see what they are from this distance.
The breeze continues to waft through the ravine and I’m suddenly aware of how eerie it is. There’s a heavy pall that carries a dark scent I can’t place.
Skirra whines again, his body stiff before he lurches forward.
