“Damn that filthy rat!” Haldrych cursed beneath his breath. “She has the luck of a devil!”

“Even I am starting to wonder about that,” Adelmar cast a troubled look down the darkened tunnel. None were about, save for them. “Did that beast not attack her?”

“It was as though she wasn’t there!” the young poet hissed. “I watched until the sun had fled and the wind had deadened my hands, but the useless creature did not make a single move toward her!”

His teeth ground behind trembling lips. “This is an ill omen. It is an ill, ill, ill, ill omen!”

“Haldrych…” the merchant’s son peered at his friend. He noted the bloodshot eyes. The unnatural brightness of them. The clammy flesh of his face. “Are…are you alright?”

“We need to act! She will escape if we do not! She means to thwart me! They mean to thwart me!”

The lycanthrope gave a confused look. “…her and the tiger, Haldrych?”

“Her and my mother!” Haldrych screamed.

“Quiet!” his friend hissed, glancing about.

Still, none came down the hall.

“Haldrych…” Adelmar said in as gentle tones as he could. “Your mother is dead. We slew her.”

The young poet stiffened. “Is she? Is she truly? Is her wrath dead?” His head shook so hard it might have parted from his neck. The Eye of Radiin followed, swaying upon his chest. “That rat defies death again and again! The ape should have killed her! The cat should have killed her! That whatever-alpha should have killed her! Instead she is left to live!”

“Haldrych…she will not live for long. It is a cat and she a rat, and it will get hungry.”

“And she will escape first, I know it!” the patriarch’s eyes had grown wild behind his mask, and now darted between shadows in the lonely tunnel. “My mother aids her from the after-world! We. Must. Act.”

“You’re not making sense, and if she escapes, she will be hunted-”

“No.” Haldrych jabbed his finger toward his friend. “I will not sit idly by while the noose tightens around my neck and not hers! Taking action brought this fortune to me-”

He gestured to the great jewel around his neck.

“-and taking action now will bring my final fortune in this trial!”

“…it is too dangerous. Let come what may-”

“You. Promised. Me,” the young poet hissed through gritted teeth. “Will you abandon an oath made man to man? We are brothers by fellowship and deed: we slew my kin together.”

His voice cracked. “Will you turn now and flee from that?”

The words hung in the tunnel.

Adelmar bit the inside of his cheek. “…I too wish to see this ended, if only because it brings a madness out in you. But the Sacred Alpha wanted her death to be slow. If we rush there to slay her now-”

“And where is the ‘alpha’?” Haldrych stepped forward. “You followed him after he left; where did he go?”

“…to his chambers to contemplate. He saw to his beast-man’s injury…but, there is no replacing that hand. The creature is marred now,” the merchant’s son sighed. “I almost pity it: it will not be long before the Sacred Alpha discards it…especially as he finishes training his third pet.”

“…oh? Oho?” Haldrych slipped his mask up and cocked a brow. A sly look had stolen into his eyes. “I think you have given me an idea…can this beast-man understand our tongue? I heard it speak certain words.”

“Somewhat, I think…why?”

“Where is it now?”

Adelmar frowned. “Last I saw? It had dragged itself to a tunnel to nurse its wounds.”

“Good. Lead me there.”

The merchant’s son blinked. “Why?”

Haldrych’s lips spread into a grin of delight. “For vengeance. Vengeance that cannot possibly be traced to us.”

Wurhi inspected her injured hand grimly.

The bandages had largely come loose and the splints had slipped from their proper places, revealing swollen flesh beneath. Were she able to feel her hands and feet, she was sure she would be in utter agony.

She sighed. Some hours ago, the sight would have fuelled her thirst for vengeance, but now she was simply exhausted. The wolves could hang for all she cared, as long as she got as far from here as feet, horse or boat would take her. Preferably to a bath.

If she had her sword, she would feel somewhat more vicious but, for now, she had more practical things to occupy her. As unlikely as it was, an opportunity had come: none guarded this place. If she was to escape, then now would be the time.

Raising herself up, she considered her surroundings.

The sabre-tooth tiger’s pit was by far the most well-kept she had been thrown into. Fresh straw covered the floor, and none of the bones were in any state of rot. If anything, it seemed as though they had been left by design.

Perhaps that mange-ridden ape-lover liked the look of them.

The rats certainly enjoyed their presence.

Groups of them perched on skeletons at the edges of the enclosure - chewing through bone to reach the rich marrow within. Wurhi snorted in grim amusement; she knew well how quick a rodent’s jaws could sever a wrist.

Though she doubted it would work on a certain cat.

Her eyes shifted to the beast in question - mountainous in size and radiating power even at rest. In some ways, it reminded her of the crazed knight: a pinnacle of brawn and deadly grace. There was a fierce wonder in its movements: a regal nature in the way it carried itself.

A nature she would appreciate far more were she not fearful of becoming the beast’s next meal. The hulking cat had silently studied her as night had fallen, but only the gods knew when its hunger might overcome its distaste. Now its eyes shone on her in the dark of night, and the feeling made the hair stand on the back of her neck.

Swallowing down trepidation, she shifted her weight.

Its rounded ears shot up and its head rose.

With a squeak, she went still.

Breaths passed as the two measured each other, but the cat made no move toward the rat. As her heart calmed, she slowly shifted to her knees.

Again, no movement from the beast.

Strange.

Well, it was not eating her, and that was all that mattered.

Her attention returned to her hands and feet - the bronze had swollen them terribly. She needed to be rid of these bindings.

First, she attempted to slip free through careful contortion, but could not hope to fit her swollen extremities through the narrow gap. Next, she tried to force the bronze apart with bestial strength. Cringing, she quickly stopped: the effort had merely made the metal bite deeper into her wrists.

In growing anger and desperation, she whirled to the antlers at her back and tried wedging them into her bonds - seeking to pry them apart. Several attempts passed, but each time the metal slipped from the sharp bone.

A chitter of rage burst from her maw-

Crk.

-which quickly turned to a yelp of pain.

The antler had pressed into her injured hand and jostled the fractured bone. She bared her teeth and cursed.

That filthy, cursed-jewel wearing wretch had truly aggravated the damage when he had …

…shifted…

Her eyes widened.

…the bone.

‘We are water.’ Milos had said. ‘If you pour water into a vessel, it becomes the vessel. If you pour it into a bowl, it becomes the bowl.’

A realisation dawned upon her. When one poured water…it could go anywhere, could it not?

She looked again to her bindings.

…or fit through any gap?

Wurhi gulped down her nerves, throwing a glance toward the sabre-toothed tiger. It still watched her, but its only movement came from the rise and fall of its cavernous chest. Perhaps it would act when it saw what she was about to do…but what choice did she have?

Exhaling a deep breath, she fell into herself and touched the rat within her mind. In past, when calling back her human form, there was always a struggle with the beast to force it back down. Yet now, though it offered resistance at first, it became soothed by her touch.

It retreated willingly.

And…

Crack!

…so came the familiar agony.

Bone shattered.

Flesh boiled.

Wurhi screamed.

Fighting to concentrate, she forced her warping eyes open. Her hands shifted like liquid, with crumbling bone reforming by the heartbeat. Through a measure of will, the Zabyallan shapeshifter moved her transforming body. Gritting blunting teeth, she again placed her bronze bonds to the tip of the antler, forcing it into the gap between her distorting wrists.

With a violent wrench, she pulled hard.

Schlp.

Malleable like clay, her changing hands slipped out like escaping water.

A cry of triumph - half-woman’s and half-rodent’s - swept up from her shortening maw, and she wasted not a moment in pulling her still-transforming feet through their bonds.

Thmp. Thmp.

Bronze fell to straw.

As she returned to human form, she was free.

Gasping and giddy with relief, she quickly inspected her injured hand for the aggravation such a maneuver would have caused…but noticed something was different. The pain had decreased significantly. In pulling free from her bonds, she had also slipped the dressing from her fingers, revealing them clearly.

Swelling had largely abated and she could gently begin to move her fingers: days’ worth of healing had occurred in mere moments. But why? Did something happen when she forced her hand through the bonds?

Yes…maybe-

A shadow fell over her.

Low cavernous breaths washed over her back.

With a yelp, she scampered away from her pit-mate. The sabre-tooth tiger had crossed the distance without a sound. Such a large creature moving so silently frayed her nerves on a primal level.

Even her hands shook…

She froze.

Her hands.

Her now very, very human hands.

And it was rat flesh the beast disliked.

“Oh shit…oh shit!” she cried, scrambling across the pit to splay herself against a wall. She noticed a tunnel that seemed to lead deeper into the mountain, but the beast was between it and her. Also, her panicked mind had more pressing matters to consider.

Such as death by mauling.

She shut her eyes, unable to watch its inevitable spring.

This breath would be her last.

Wurhi gulped in sweet mountain air.

Now would come the pain.

…

…

…

Alright, this breath would be-

“Okay, what in every hell?” she forced her eyes open.

The beast had not attacked her. With curiosity, the great cat tilted its head while watching the frightened Zabyallan, then glanced at one of the rats. Its head tilted further when it looked back to her.

It slowly dawned on her what was going through its mind.

“You’re confused.” Her chest heaved. Perhaps it was because she had been conversing in Laexondaelic so much as of late, but it was in this tongue that she spoke now. “You’ve seen the wolves turn, but not someone like me: not a rat.”

The beast’s eyes seemed to sharpen at the word ‘rat’, and it looked again to the rodents.

“Well, good thing I’m a rat. Don’t think you like those very much.”

It gave a snort of distaste, which she ignored.

“Never been so happy about my father’s ‘gift’,” she gave a delirium-tinged laugh. “It saved me from you, and I’d have never gotten free of those shackles without…it…”

Wurhi’s breath stopped.

The sabre-toothed tiger - an animal - had cocked its ears toward her at the word ‘shackles’, then curiously shifted the discarded bronze bindings with its paw.

Her eyes grew very wide.

Again, Milos’ words rose from the annals of her mind.

‘…three generations of choosing sires and mothers for size and intellect.’ He gestured to the skeleton. ‘His mother was nearly what I wished for…but I had the thought of introducing sorcery into the bloodline.’

Sorcery. Capable of all sorts of strange things, as she had witnessed.

Perhaps even…

“Can…can you understand what I’m saying?”

The beast paused in prodding one of the pieces of bronze.

That battering ram-like head rose up to the height of its shoulder - as high as many men were tall - and regarded her in silence.

Then it nodded.

She nearly fainted.