The first low growl sounded at moonrise.

Tanin halted, sucking in a gasp of dry air. He turned in a full circle, but saw only the rocky formations dotting the landscape like the skeletal fingers of giants reaching from beneath the earth. Scrub brush and towering cacti mingled together. The ground sloped mildly upward now, slowly growing into a dark mountain in the far distance, but for now, he was still in desert lands.

He’d travelled well in the hours since leaving Desita, and had surpassed any distance he’d ever gone before. Even on his adventure along the river with Memine when they were little, they hadn’t gotten this far from town. The Charic tracks were still plainly visible in the topsoil of sand and dirt under the moonlight, but the riders were not yet in sight. Tanin assumed they would stop and camp at night and hoped to see campfires in the distance. So far, nothing. The desert stretched out beneath the moon, shading the world in blue shadow.

Deciding—or hoping—he’d imagined the growl, Tanin resumed walking. When a second growl reached his ears, Tanin spun around. He was not in a great position; while not caught in anything so damning as a tight and narrow ravine, he was surrounded by outcroppings of jagged rock, behind which could lurk any number of sandcats on the prowl for their evening meal.

Another growl made his ears quiver. It had come from the left—or, no, the right? The cats hunted in small packs, so likely it was both . . .

I’ll never see her again, Tanin thought as his heart rate sped up. I’ve gotten myself trapped by sandcats and it will all end right here. My life, my love, the Fell themselves. Maybe I deserve nothing less as payment for my cowardice.

Instinct took over. He leapt forward toward a tall outcrop, hands outstretched to grasp two sharp points of rock. The jump brought him a full body length from the sandy floor, and he didn’t look back as he ascended the columnar formation.

A roar sounded beneath him. Tanin climbed faster, hands and feet finding crevices by intuition until he was several lengths high. Only then did he look down.

Three sandcats paced circles where he had stood, their heads back, glaring up at him. They seemed to be urging him to fall, and for one moment, Tanin thought he might do just that, unable to resist their carnivorous will.

The sandcats’ tough hide blended seamlessly with the ground, the bumps and tufts in their skin resembling nothing so much as pebbles and dirt. Only their large amber eyes anchored the shape of their bodies, and their open mouths the purpose of their jaws and teeth. Tanin had encountered the beasts before while safe with a large party of Fell. He’d seen dead cats brought back into town to be flayed and butchered for food and pelts. But the Fell Guardians never sought them out alone. A cat’s reflexes were a challenge even to teams of trained Fell, never mind having three of them to contend with.

The peak of this outcrop rose another three lengths, jutting from the earth like a ladder to the stars. The entire column stood isolated from any others, a singular pillar of sharp rock. Tanin could not leap to the next nearest formation.

He had treed himself.

Tanin groaned at his luck; at his stupidity. No wonder he’d never been asked to train as a Guardian. While he’d possessed the instincts to avoid three pouncing sandcats, that same instinct had done nothing more than prolong his inevitable death.

He could wait them out; they needed to drink. Sooner or later they’d leave to quench that thirst. But being desert dwellers, they, too, had developed the means to go for long periods without liquid. Not so long as a Fell might last, but it was certainly a matter of days, not hours—long enough that if they chose to wait, he risked losing the trail of the Charic entirely.

He had to keep moving, but to do so, he must defeat the sandcats.

One of the cats released a frustrated howl. Tanin hated the animal almost as much as himself.

If you can’t kill three sandcats, what possible chance do you have against—

Tanin urged himself upward a little more and found a small ledge to seat himself on. From this perch, he could see far around. There could be more cats out there, their dusty iridescent coats shifting and blending with the desert floor. Still he saw no Charic campfires.

You don’t have to kill the cats, Tanin thought. You only need to survive and keep following the Charic’sada.

His spear lay on the ground where he’d dropped it to leap for the rocks, so that was no use to him. What else? What else can you do? Think! The enemy gets farther and farther away with each moment.

Tanin shifted his weight on the ledge. A drift of sand and pebbles bounced down the outcrop in a series of barely audible tics. He grasped the sharp tip of another piece of his sanctuary and wrestled it out of the column. The chunk of dark, triangular rock sat in his hand like a dagger.

The cats wailed in unison as Tanin weighed both the rock in his hand and his chances of fighting them off with just this small weapon. No; Fell spears were used specifically to keep sandcats at a distance. This rock, while sharp, would require him closing in with the animals. A death sentence.

Never had he felt such envy over the Guardians. He should have at least learned how to use a bow, a weapon he could use to attack from this distance . . .

Tanin maneuvered carefully on his ledge until he was standing atop it. He shoved the rock dagger into his woven belt, snug against the small of his back. Anchoring himself with three points of contact, the way he’d been taught since a youngster, he used his free hand to test other parts of the column. Soon he had forced a small pile of good-sized, sharp stones from the outcrop and stacked them at his feet on the ledge.

He sat again and raised one of the rocks, preparing to throw it as hard as he could at the sandcats. He paused, though, as he thought out the likely damage such a throw could inflict. Not much. A straight shot to the face might dissuade one of them, but he doubted he could hit all three in such a manner.

Another cat roared at him. Tanin spat at it for spite, rearing back and letting the spittle fly with as much force as he could muster. The white drop splatted harmless against the cat’s shimmering coat. Tanin wished it was one of the deadly but useless rocks he’d gathered, flinging it hard and sharp against—

Tanin considered. He undid his belt, woven from fibers of tall grasses that grew wild in the desert. He cinched the rock in a loop of the belt and held it tightly in place as he stood. He grabbed the outcrop firmly with his left hand and tested it for stability. It held. Holding his breath, Tanin let his right arm drop low, the faceted rock still clenched in the belt.

With a shout, Tanin whipped the belt high over head and released one end. The rock hurtled from the loop. It thumped against the flank of one of the sandcats, which meowed gracelessly and danced to one side.

Tanin grinned hopefully. Forcing himself to take his time and not make a critical error in movement or aim, Tanin hurled more jagged chunks of granite at his attackers. Several missed, but others landed well against the cats’ hides, making them skip in short circles and contort their bodies. In minutes, he’d bled all three of them; nothing mortal, but their blood dotted the ground and in one case streamed down a cat’s leg.

“Go, go!” Tanin shouted at them as his pile of ammunition shortened. “Get out of here, run!”

He scored another a hit on the skull of one of the sandcats. That proved enough for the animal, which roared in pain and darted away, making fast tracks to the east. Tanin cried out in gleeful rage and flung another rock.

Like any gathering of bullies, once one of them broke ranks, the other two would not continue. Hissing and spitting, the two cats bounded off after their compatriot and disappeared into the desert.

Tanin scurried down the column and gathered his spear. All he could do now was run the opposite direction, following the path of the Charic. He’d have to find a safe place to rest before his lungs failed him, though, which meant in addition to running at top speed, he’d have to keep an eye out for a place safe from another sandcat ambush.

Tanin ran west, following the tracks of his prey. His legs grew tired, and exhaustion nibbled at his brain; he’d been awake for too long, and the day’s events further drained him.

He slowed when something loomed dark in the distance. Tanin noticed too there were fewer and fewer of the rocky outcrops native to his homeland. He’d passed plants foreign to him as he ran, and now as he walked, he noticed they were not trampled. He could still make out the marks of the Charic’s passing.

His eyelids dropped. Tanin startled himself awake, realizing he’d been walking without caution. He would have to stop.

Ahead lay a sprawling, dark horizon of trees. He stood in awe of them.

A forest. The forest some of the Guardian travelers talked about. He’d never seen it himself, but some of the older Guardians told tales over cooking fires about these enormous trees, the luxurious scents from their narrow leaves, and the dangers lurking within. These dangers were always vague and mythical in their nature, Tanin recalled, but now that he stood in the actual place, his heart beat more quickly. Here, if the Guardians were to be believed, were creatures of magic, creatures who thirsted for blood, creatures who could command the very vegetation itself.

Tanin studied the desert floor and its abrupt end at the tree line. The Charic’sada had entered here—smaller plants and grasses had been trampled.

Huffing a tired sigh, Tanin peered deeper into the forest, searching for a tree to climb. The sandcats, he felt sure, would never venture in here, but being up high seemed a wise choice. He found a tree with a wide trunk, tilted at an angle which he could easily climb. He did so, and arranged himself among the branches like a nest two lengths from the ground.

Once secure, exhaustion took the Fell whole. His eyes shut despite himself, and his aching bones sank into the wood and leaves. For one moment, he found peace.

Then the horror of the Charic attack burst in his mind anew, his arduous journey having kept it at bay. Tanin, overcome and not thinking of any consequences, released a scream that tore through the forest as if scraping bark from trees. It rent his vocal cords like the tall desert grasses the Fell harvested. His abdominal muscles clenched like fists, making his ribs creak and threaten to snap.

When at last he could scream no longer, he dropped against the firm branch supporting his weight and, in moments, slept. His rest came not easily, but it was needed and dreamless. Not much more could be asked.

It did not occur to Tanin that a creature might hear his scream in this forest, and come to investigate.