Smoke. Gem. Smoke. Holy shit! I wafted vaporously around the roots of the bush ... and felt a clock ticking in my mind. A countdown. Ticking off the seconds of my terrifying new knowledge that I couldn’t keep this form for long.

The crachen peered at the ground and didn’t see me. He didn’t see anything but smoke from the campfire, swirling through the branches and leaves.

“What?” the infenti called.

“Nothing. Let’s head back. We’re done here.”

She agreed, but they were in no rush.

Unlike me. I was in a pretty huge fucking rush, because if I my body re-formed too soon, they’d see me. They’d hear me. Then they’d cook me to death with fireflies. So I strained to remain in my smokey shaped, to remain fumes and vapor.

I felt myself slipping, though.

I felt myself needing to revert to flesh and blood.

I couldn’t last much longer, so I billowed along the ground. I moved as silently as a, well, as a patch of smoke. I didn’t have eyes, but I still saw. I didn’t have ears, but I heard. I wafted to the far side of a clump of high roots, then couldn’t control myself any longer: I solidified into my body.

I almost gasped for breath, but managed to stifle the impulse. I hugged the ground behind the roots, silent and unmoving, terrified that they’d heard me. That a cloud of fireflies would surround me, start shooting flames like a thousand blowtorches, and burn me to ash.

Nothing happened.

They chatted for a time, then they headed away.

I still didn’t move. I stayed hidden behind the roots and thought about Oksar. I barely knew him. I’d only met him a few days earlier. Still, I owed him. He’d saved my life for no reason other than his own decency and I wouldn’t forget that. Both the debt and the lesson. And my vow. They would pay.

After a long time, I straightened from behind the roots. I listened for a while, and just heard forest noises. So I waited a little more, then returned to the campsite, and discovered that there wasn’t enough left of Oksar to bury.

I did my best, though. Then I said a few stupid, heartfelt words to the trees.

After wiping a tear from my eye, I grabbed one of Oksar’s wineskins and a sack of dried meat. His largest pack was half-burned from where the infenti had tossed it at the fire, but he had a few smaller ones. His spear was still there, too. So I grabbed it and felt a little more secure. In another pack, I found miscellaneous junk: a sewing kit, a coiled rope, a couple of hatchets, a spare skillet.

No beads, though: those gemmed fucked had stolen them all. And they were what I needed most. Pearl beads, at the very least, for minor healing.

I threw a few changes of clothing onto the bedroll, then added the books that Oksar kept in an oilcloth package. I considered his bow but I didn’t know how to use a bow. So I took his skinning knife and a vicious blade as long as a short-sword. I gave the blade a few experimental swipes and felt pretty badass.

Ten minutes later, I’d collected a pile of useful gear. I figured Oksar wouldn’t mind me taking his stuff. I even found more of his honeydew candy, though still no beads. Okay. I’d walk for a few hours, to get some distance in case anyone returned to the campsite. I’d sleep for the night then follow the stream in the morning, looking for a town. And then ...

I swallowed. I didn’t know what I’d do then. Well, at least I’d learned a little bit about the world, and--

A growl sounded from the forest nearby.

A real growl, that time. Not a ward, warning me of danger.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I didn’t move for a few seconds. I couldn’t. I was paralyzed by fear, by the deep instinct to stay the fuck still in the presence of a predator.

Then a rustling sounded and I grabbed the spear.

I jerked toward the sound as a creature prowled into sight. A big cat. A puma? Sure. Except the size of a fucking pony.

INTUIT: Dire Puma, Level 7

Yeah, that was ‘dire’ all right. A regular-sized puma would’ve been scary enough. Would’ve been terrifying. Catastrophic. But this? My grip tightened on the shaft of the spear. The tip trembled with my heartbeat. This wasn’t terrifying this was death.

The dire puma sniffed. Narrowed its eyes at me, then looked at the meat hanging from hooks on the low branch.

“Th-that’s all yours,” I told it, my voice shaking and my stomach hollow with fear. “I was j-0just leaving. Good kitty. You--“

The puma swiped at me, from across the campsite. Not trying to connect, just pawing the air as a casual threat, but I almost shit myself. I clenched the spear harder and desperately wished I had a grenade instead. Or that I knew a single fucking thing about fighting with a goddamn pointy stick or--

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My mind expanded.

I shifted my stance, I shifted my grip on the spear. I inhaled slowly and took note of my surroundings. I even saw the puma differently, as if I’d learned how to read body language--or combat positioning--better.

The cat was toying with me. It wasn’t hungry. It was more curious about a campsite that had been barred to it. And that smelled deliciously of meat.

Maybe I was imagining some of that, but I wasn’t imagining my newfound skill with the spear. I needed to brace the butt against the ground or a root if the puma charged. Let that overgrown kitty impale itself on the point. Except this thing was still way, way out of my league. Hell, dire pumas were out of Oksar’s league. He needed traps to hunt them, and he wielded a spear like a pro.

Plus, I couldn’t turn to smoke again. It was too soon. I knew that without knowing how I knew. There must’ve been some kind of cooldown on the skill, making it feel inaccessible.

So it was time to back away.

I left the bedroll and books and knives behind. I kept the spear high as I backed across the campsite, pausing only to randomly grab a single pack. I shrugged a strap onto one shoulder, my gaze never leaving the dire puma, and prayed that it wouldn’t follow me.

It followed me.

Growling again.

Which, shit.

Still, I kept moving, and the monstrous cat kept following. For a minute. For two minutes. For five horrible minutes, I backed away through the trees, sick with fear. A slow-motion death hunt across the darkening forest floor.

The puma didn’t close the distance. I didn’t know why ... until suddenly I did know why.

Because suddenly, a smaller dire puma emerged from the underbrush. It was maybe a quarter the first one’s size, which meant no bigger than a goddamn tiger. And that one looked ready to fight.

INTUIT: Dire Puma Cub, Level 4

“You shit,” I snarled at the big one. “You stalked me here so your cub could practice killing?”

The big one stopped advancing. She sat and licked her paw like a housecat. An evil, two-ton housecat. I bet she wouldn’t get involved again unless I started winning. Which meant there was no winning.

I changed directions and kept backing away--and the smaller puma prowled another few steps then crouched as if to spring.

So I braced the butt of the spear on the ground, to catch the furry little fuck in the chest if it jumped. Maybe that’s why it didn’t jump. Maybe these things were smarter than they should’ve been. That would explain why the mother puma had delivered me to her cub like Uber goddamn Eats. And maybe I was stupider that I should’ve been. That would explain why the quest said I wasn’t strong enough to survive out here.

Yet here I was, being stalked by a goddamn baby puma. I needed help. I needed a miracle. Hell, I needed a hole to crawl into. Oh! That last one actually sounded possible, so I glanced around quickly.

I didn’t see any convenient holes, though. What a shocker. However, I did see a fallen tree from which hundreds of saplings grew.

“Huh,” I said.

I remembered that massive, fallen trunk. That’s where I’d first entered the forest through the smokey gate. Hm. I started angling toward it--

The young puma sprang forward, batting at me with a paw the size of a catcher’s mitt.

I spun the spear halfway decently and knocked the paw away.

The puma didn’t care. He was just playing with his food. He reared back and batted twice more in rapid succession, and I shifted and slashed his forelimb. The spear-tip didn’t slice through his tough hide but the young dire puma didn’t like me hitting back.

He flattened his ears in anger--and I glanced quickly over my shoulder. Okay. Right over there.

The cat paced in front of me, lashing his tail, then charged. He juked aside to dodge my spear thrust so I desperately spun the spear like quarterstaff. I blocked him with the shaft and the impact almost knocked me onto my ass. I staggered but managed to remain on my feet and the puma turned and crouched once more. He was done playing games.

I took the spear in a firm two-handed grip--and that time the cat leaped.

Three hundred pounds of carnivore soared toward me, all claws and teeth and death. I almost pissed myself. Instead, I braced the butt of the spear and aimed the point at the creature’s chest. I didn’t consider myself a brave man, but I did not flinch. I did not tremble. And the spear caught the puma exactly where I wanted, right between the front legs.

The tip pierced about two inches deep before catching on impossibly-dense muscle and not penetrating any further. My spear couldn’t kill a dire puma. Hell, my spear could barely scratch one. I almost panicked. I almost lost my shit completely. However, with the tip embedded in the young puma’s chest and the butt braced, my spear pole-vaulted the fucker over my head.

His spread claws whipped downward and swiped the hat from my head, but didn’t touch my scalp. Thank fucking god--except the spear-top stayed lodged in the puma as it flung past me. The shaft jerked from my hands, leaving me unarmed, and the cat slammed into the fallen tree trunk behind me.

Then he scrambled to his feet, shook the spear free and charged me.

I fled, leaping over roots, my sandals pounding. There was no cover, no hole, no place to hide. And that thing must’ve sprinted at eighty miles an hour ... while I must’ve sprinted at fifteen. Which was some ugly math.

I didn’t look back, I just kept running. I heard him, though. A rustle of leaves, a huff of hungry breath.

I was two seconds from becoming catfood when I caught sight of salvation: a hazy crack hung in the damp forest air.

I dove forward, willing myself to turn into smoke.

It didn’t work. It was soon. My skill hadn’t reset. So I didn’t transform ... but the crack in the air expanded into a gateway around me.

And as the dire puma pounced, I crashed back into the temple courtyard, on the inside of the smoke fence.

***

A minute later, I climbed two stone steps then collapsed breathlessly onto the temple veranda. Safe again. I hadn’t seen any thornspiders, but that didn’t matter: I didn’t even consider slowing down until I reached safety.

When my heart stopped pounding, I took stock of my situation. Meaning, first, the contents of Oksar’s bag, which was actually satchel with a shoulder strap.

Inside, I found:

* a sewing kit, with needles and thread and five small leather disks

* a coiled rope that looked more like a laundry line than a climbing rope

* a package of smoked meat jerky

* a dinged skillet with a bent handle

* two crude hatchets

* a wad of fabric that, unwadded, was the size of a beach towel

* three blue marbles

* a thin book, the size of my hand, with flowers pressed inside.

At first, I thought the marbles were beads. Jackpot! My excitement died, however, when I realized that no, they were just marbles.

The book with the pressed flowers only had thirty pages. Sketches filled about half the space, and messy handwriting filled the other half. At least, I thought it was messy. I could read the words, but only barely. Possibly because I was only half-literate here.

I didn’t spend much time trying to decipher the text. Instead, I lifted one of the hatchets, then the other. Upon closer inspection, the hafts were crude but the blades--the heads, whatever you called them--looked pretty sharp. Both metaphorically, design-wise, and literally, slicing easily through the fraying fabric on the hem of my tunic.

The hafts matched: slightly curved length of unpolished wood with crude leather grips. Maybe twenty, twenty-two inches long. The metal heads didn’t quite match. They both had flared blades that tapered to dagger-like elements on the back, but one was topped, directly opposite the haft, with a spike while the other had more of a mace-type head.

They looked pretty formidable. They might’ve been hatchets instead of battle-axes--or swords or spears or warhammers--but they had one absolutely undeniable advantage: they were here. I’d already lost my short sword and knives and spear.

Also, they were kind of inspiring. Like when I held them I wasn’t just an archmage from another dimension, I was also a hatchetman.