The beast hasn't noticed me yet. My pencil flies across the page, eyes flashing back and forth between the sketchbook and my subject. As I work, I whisper a prayer that it'll stay still long enough for me to finish. Curled around a branch wider than my own shoulders, it basks in a patch of broken sunlight. Four of its six eyes are closed. The other two—milky green and facing up towards the canopy—flick around wildly in their sockets.

I press harder into the parchment as I define the edges of the armored carapace that lines its back, the insect-like joints and angles of its hind legs. A series of quick strokes for the fan-like plates of its tail. I slow as I get to the forelimbs. They have a mammalian quality to them which gives me pause. I strain my neck for a better look.

Are those...thumbs?

The wind shifts, and the rest of the creature's eyes flick open. Its head snaps forward to face me where I kneel on the mossy platform, freezing me down to the bones.

Eyes that human don't belong in a face like that.

It skitters in a loop about the branch before jumping to another, this one only a few paces away from the platform's railing.

It fixes four eyes on me, but the last two continue their spastic rolling. Then it jumps—landing with a scrabbling thwack over the rail. Its maw gapes, and blue ichor oozes from between its teeth. The wood of the platform hisses and bubbles where the droplets hit, giving off acrid smoke. As the creature heaves its bulk over the rail, I stumble backwards, dropping my sketchbook and pencils.

I need to run. I need to run now. But I can't run, can't even draw my shakta. My hands shake, but my gaze holds fast—fixed on one of the eyes of the monster.

There's a shriek from behind me. "Mirebeast!"

And then another voice, and another. "Nik, run!"

"What the chasms are you doing?!"

Blue fluid begins to weep from the creature's eyes as it drags and scuttles its way towards me, spike-tipped limbs scrambling for purchase. It moans, a strangled sound that tears at my heart and makes my guts quiver.

Footsteps beat at the platform. An instant later I'm shoved backwards. Aunt Ula looms between me and the creature. Her shakta sings from its sheath, the weighted end of its chain whipping out in a wide arc. The iron wedge crashes across the beast's face, tearing muscle and breaking bone. It shrieks, spraying caustic fluid and blood.

"No! stop!" The words rip out of me before I realize what I'm saying. But Ula ignores me, leaping forward and slashing out to open the creature's throat. Its screams become choked, gurgling. I clap my hands over my ears automatically. There's something so familiar about that voice, and so wrong. It hurts.

There's an odd hissing sound, and then the smell of burnt and spoiled flesh sears my nostrils. A few paces away, my aunt curses in pain. The creature falls, the whole platform reverberating with the weight of it. She stands above the twitching, writhing heap for a moment before stooping to dispatch it with a hard dip of her blade. She wipes the shakta clean on a thick patch of moss, sheaths it, and loops the chain through her belt once more. She only uses one arm, but her movements are deft and efficient.

And now she's turning to me.

Her skin bubbles in tortured rivers across her left arm. I look away. Already, one of the family physicians is hurtling across the platform towards us, pulling something from his satchel.

"Look at me!" My aunt's face burns with pain and anger.

I do, shrinking back at the sight of her, wrapping my arms around myself. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I—"

"Nikessa." Her expression softens somewhat as she stoops to grip my trembling shoulder. "What were you thinking? Why didn't you run, call for Hunters?"

"I...I..." I stammer, cursing myself inwardly. I want to explain, but-like my legs and hands-my words fail me when I most need them. My aunt sighs.

"These things are dangerous. You must draw your shakta and call for Hunters whenever one comes near you. Do you hear me? Do you understand?" She squeezes me with her uninjured arm. I nod. Tekmi swoops down from the branches above to land on her shoulder. My aunt pulls up her hood, shielding the little owl akhana from the light of day.

"It's not just yourself you're putting at risk," she says, extending her left arm to the side. The physician is beside her the next instant, laying long, oily leaves over her wounds.

"There will be scars, Rhavani."

"Of course."

"They may limit your movement."

She looks away from him, saying nothing.

Others begin to arrive, forming a small crowd around us. Oh good, the whole household is here to witness my shame.

"Nikka-va! Ula! Are they alright? Let me through!" My cheeks burn as Aunt Mahara forces her way through the throng to our side, face flushed, her fenfox following close behind her. For a moment she holds me at arms length, her eyes scanning me for any sign of injury. Then she pulls me in close with a huff.

"We're fine, love. Er, well..." Ula fumbles as Mahara pulls away from me, shooting a pointed look at her partner's leaf-wrapped arm. "Nikessa is fine, and I'm fine with a few new scars."

"Thank the rivers," she intones, her voice shaky. "Another one all the way up here...it's only going to get worse. We need to post more guards to the patrol."

Aunt Ula nods, her expression grim, her eyes far away in thought.

Nearby, the others' murmuring has taken on a different tone.

We all turn to look towards the beast's fallen corpse, but our view of it is obstructed by the crowd. Mahara leads the charge with Ula and the physician close behind her, but I hang back.

One of the Hunters rises from a crouch at the beast's side. Something in his hand glints. Bracing myself, I fight back my sudden nausea and nudge my way closer. The Hunter raises his hand up high, displaying what he's found. Someone starts to cry.

It's a necklace with a bright blue pendant that winks in the shifting, leaf-filtered sunlight. A betrothal shard.