The rider has to focus on the targets or risk missing, while the direwolf has to focus on their feet or risk falling. That split is what I watched tear rider and wolf apart over and over.
But Anassa barely pays attention to the bridge, so surefooted that her speed is almost too much as the targets fly closer. They’re unpredictable for each run, so I’m not sure where to aim initially.
Fuckingmovingtargets!
A sharp sting of warning impacts my mind, and I turn to the left. Anassa’s predatory instinct flags the sudden movement of one of the targets, and my fighter’s instincts respond to her warning and snap into motion as if a fist is flying towards me.
I spin on her back, tossing a dagger that thuds precisely into the target.
Again, the target flashes. Again, her warning just in time. Anassa’s movements are suddenly predictable and deliberate.
Her pride won’t let her fail in front of the other wolves, and I’m benefitting from it. With her moving steadily beneath me, it’s suddenly so much easier to focus. I lead my daggers like I used to lead my punches in the pits, aiming where the target will be—accounting for Anassa’s startling speed—rather than where it is.
Six targets. Six hits. Unflinching, unafraid, unstoppable.
Then the course narrows into a spiral descent. I know this is the hardest part. Anassa senses my brief faltering and snarls, her confidence overtaking my fear and strangling it silent.
Other wolves have tried to race through the spiral to hasten their times, but it cost them dearly.
Too fast, and they ended up swinging wide on their turns and crashing or tumbling right over the edge of the platforms. Anassa’s cold calculation is ready for the challenge, though.
We take each turn at precisely the same angle, her speed controlled and her movements sharp as a blade. I lean as far as I can into each turn until I’m held to her body by centrifugal force alone, yet I’m ready when she levels out and I need to pull myself back up and reassert my grip.
None of it is beautiful. Of course, it isn’t. Both of us are still too independently angry.
There’s notruecommunication. I get brief flashes of warning before Anassa hurtles through every turn, and I have to rely on my own strength to respond to her decisions and follow through.
We’re two predators who’ve agreed to hunt together for the sake of the kill, but she doesn’t trust me any more than I do her.
We close in on the leap of faith. It’s the last obstacle standing between me and survival. Once we’ve passed this, the wall will go right back up, I expect.
The platform is going to drop out beneath Anassa’s feet, and we’re expected to twist in mid-air, hit three successive targets during the fall, and land on a small marked area.
Most pairs must rely on their direwolves’ instincts for this part, their keen canine eyes indicating and communicating when precisely to release their weapons during the fall. Anassa shreds that idea apart in her teeth as we land on the platform, her chest heaving.
Instead, she gives me another glimpse of her mind. I know the precise jump she’s going to take. The moment I have the information, I start anticipating the targets, the speed of the fall, the angle of my throws.
I know how bodies move through space. I know how much force I’ll need to reach the targets, with the help of Anassa’s momentum. I know how far my body can twist and just how long I’ll be able to hold on to her—I’ve had plenty of practice crossing that line, so I know precisely when my legs are going to give out.
And most importantly, I know when to hit. I know because in the pit, you have to know.
Hit too early, and you’re leaving yourself wide open. Hit too late, and you’re back against the wall, struggling to fend off an onslaught on the back foot.
Anassa jumps. We fall. Daggers fly. Targets shatter.
We land hard, my jaw clacking and my bones rattling. But we land in the right spot, thanks to Anassa’s strength. Her claws leave deep gouges in the designated circle. My eyes are fixated on those gouges as my breaths rip from my throat and my muscles tremble.
We just…didthat?
“Third!” someone shouts coldly.
Third? As in, thirdfastesttime?
I clutch Anassa’s fur as she pads away from the course, her sides still heaving from the exertion. I guess that’s what you get when you put two stubborn assholes up against a challenge and tell them to prove themselves.
Anassa’s disdain still leaks through the barrier between us. She doesn’t like that she had to cooperate with me for this. She also doesn’t think third is good enough, most likely.
But there’s something else there, too. Something like recognition. A brief shimmer of acknowledgement. It’s a little like she’s recognized that I’m not a spindly piece of human meat only good for eating. Like she saw andfeltmy strength, just now, and she’s begrudgingly admitting that I may actually have something to offer her.
