Rafferty paced along the rock ledge, sword in hand, as she waited for it to emerge from the shimmer.

When the thing was close enough, she stopped, and raised her other hand to the level of her eyes. She placed her thumb at its feet, and curled her index finger over the top of its head. From this distance, using her unofficial measurement, Rafferty estimated that it was right on the border between Class Two and Class Three.

That was a problem.

If it was a Class Three, the rules required her to mark its position, and return home for backup.

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If it was a Class Two, she was fine to deal with it on her own.

Rafferty pinched her fingers just a bit tighter. Maybe, just maybe, she was cutting off the very top of its head.

But that would be really hard to say for sure, wouldn't it?

Now it was a Class Two.

She leapt high off the cliff, and hit the ground running, gaining speed as the blue pads on the soles of her boots began to glow. Dodging the occasional outcropping, she closed the distance in what she thought was a very respectable time.

Rafferty stopped about two hundred yards short of her target, skidding hard along the dust. She looked up. Even from this distance, its long metal legs loomed high above her head.

Rafferty laughed.

She needn't have worried.

It definitely wasn't a Class Three.

Rafferty's target lurched, and took another giant step. A hundred and fifty yards away now. Tops.

This was a Class 4.