Branwen and Pryderi both looked at him. “It’s not a good idea,” he added.
“Dawn is minutes away,” said Pryderi. “I will take any idea.”
Gwydion nodded. And then he looked at Palug.
For a moment, Branwen didn’t understand. Palug sat on a fallen log, grooming his face. He froze, as though sensing the attention on him. Very slowly, he put his paw down.
“You’re right, that’s a bad idea,” said Branwen.
“Oh,” said Pryderi. “You… mean him? Is that even allowed?”
“Any animal,” said Gwydion. “Those are the rules. Be it beast or monster.”
Pryderi’s hand rose to his mouth. “But that means every hunter in this forest will be trying to kill or capture Branwen’s cat.”
Branwen looked at Palug. As always, she saw that faint glitter of magic around his whiskers and eyes. She held out a hand to him, and the cat nuzzled her fingers.
“I’d like to see them try,” she said.
Pryderi’s forehead scrunched in confusion.
“He devoured a hundred knights,” said Gwydion.
Pryderi’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry, hewhat?”
“Well, he might have,” Branwen amended. “I’m not certain.”
“Oh, did we forget to mention that?” said Gwydion brightly.
The prince looked back and forth between them. “What other secrets are you two hiding?”
“We could tell you,” said Gwydion, “but it would take half themorning. Better to tie your ring to the cat now, and we’ll tell you our darkest secrets later.”
Pryderi glanced at Branwen. “If—if you are sure.”
She nodded. She had no intention of letting any harm come to Palug.
Pryderi squatted before the cat. “Please do not eat me,” he said. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a piece of dried meat.
Palug blinked once. Then he took the meat and devoured it.
“I’ll assume that means ‘all right,’” said Pryderi. With surprising gentleness, he touched his signet ring to the cat’s throat.
A vine wound through the earth, fastening around the cat’s throat like a collar. It bound the ring into place. The greenery slid around Pryderi’s finger. Magic burrowed into his arm.
It was done.
Branwen looked at her own hand, then at the others’ rings: Gwydion and his ring of roots; her oaken ring; Pryderi’s living ring of greenery. They were bound to this land, to the Hunt, and to one another.
Palug stretched. Branwen picked him up, setting him atop her shoulder. The cat balanced there, his eyes half-lidded.
“If this isn’t against the rules, why wouldn’t every hunter attach their ring to a hunting hound?” asked Pryderi. “It seems a far easier plan than traipsing through the woods.”
“Because they were not clever enough to think of it,” said Gwydion, tossing a pine cone into the air and catching it in his left hand.
“We should assume that some of them are,” said Branwen, shaking her head. “After all, if we—”
A horn resounded through the forest. She had heard hunting horns before—but never one that rumbled the ground, stirred the trees, and sent every bird shrieking into the air.
