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Though freed of the Blight, Uthur seemed possessed by another force entirely as he pummeled Alaric’s face into the ground, falling forward over the red prince and bracing his legs to either side of his chest as his victim tried and failed to beat him with the grip of his weapon. Mika cowered, gaze darting around for somewhere safe she might secure herself. Voices rang out in Song, adding the forces of churning winds and whipping vines to the fray. And all around her were grappling orcs, those without Song doing everything in their power to silence the Singers.

Then there was the threat of the frighted beast itself and its stomping legs as it sought to keep out of reach of its assailants. But so long as Mika stayed near it, no horrid blasts went off.

Please stop, please make it all stop. I just want to eat some leaves.

Mika froze. The thought hadn’t come in words, exactly, but rather as images combined with a concentrated essence of meaning. And though she’d heard it, felt it, even sympathized with it somehow, it most certainly had not been hers. Turning slowly, she peered up at the creature as it gazed at branches out of reach beyond the ring of fighters. As she watched, the strange intensity of its thoughts still echoing in her mind, she began to feel it. An unseen thread of connection between herself and the beast, sparking with energy.

What in the Depths is going on?

Tentatively, she tugged at the connection, called to the creature from within. At once its head turned, its lovely eyes fixing on her face.

“Bend your knees,” she thought to it. “And let me climb onto your back. You’ll be safer that way.”

The beast blinked, its legs folding with surprising elegance beneath it. For a few heartbeats Mika just stood there and stared, and then finally her shock loosed its shackles. But as she was closing the distance between herself and the creature, the moss dropped away from beneath her feet and her collar tightened painfully around her neck.

Someone had her by the hood.

A gravelly laugh issued from behind her, and she managed to twist around just enough to catch a flash of silver hair out of the corner of her eye.

“Let me go, you foul, stinking, hideous excuse for a—”

But Kurr’s laugh only deepened as he lifted her higher still, twisting her about to face him as she reached up to claw uselessly at his wrists.

“Oh, very nice,” he purred, drawing her in so close she could feel the heat of his stinking breath on her face. “I like my prey feisty. I look forward to hunting you properly, once all this is over,” he said. Then, pausing, he closed his eyes, and his nostrils flared as he drew in her scent. “Aaaah,” he breathed. “So strong. So good. I can hardly wait.” Turning with her still in hand, he made for the tree line. Mika hissed and writhed and kicked, digging her claws deeper into his flesh. But his skin was like leather, and she couldn’t draw blood.

“Oh, it’ll all be in sport of course. Catch and release, more or less,” he chuckled. “But perhaps, once I’ve no more use for you…” he trailed off, letting all of the unspoken, horrible possibilities fester between them. “That may take some time, though. Might have to sneak a nibble or two in advance.” His tone was mockingly thoughtful, stupidly so, and Mika wished desperately to scratch his eyes out. “You’re more valuable even than either of the Pitiful Princes knew, aren’t you? Seemed surprised as everyone else when you cured that blight beast. How’d you do that?”

When she didn’t answer, he shook her, but she merely sprayed him with spittle as she hissed even harder. Even if she’d known, she’d not have told him.

“You some kind of secret Fleshsinger? Hm?” He shook her some more, her collar digging deeper into her neck and choking her, until she was forced to pull her claws from his skin to grasp at it.

A blast issued from behind them, the great creature crying out in pain and Mika with it. Then it began again to Sing. There was a great rushing of wind and snapping of branches, the shouting of orcs. But Kurr just walked on, everyone else they passed too entangled in battle to pay him any mind. Somewhere off behind her, Mika heard Threl’s ululating battle cry.

Please, may he protect it, she prayed from her heart even as her lips spat curses and pulled back to bare her teeth.

“Oh, I am going to have fun with you,” sighed Kurr, a wretchedly wistful smile twisting his lips.

There was a rustling of leaves overhead, and then heavy moss-muffled thunk as something fell to earth from the branches behind them,

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Kurr twisted around on the spot, but before he could fully face his attacker, something crashed across the side of his skull.

As his grip on her loosed and he fell sideways, a piece of the darkness reached forth to catch her.

Retga’s crimson eyes flashed with fury as she pulled Mika in close to her chest. Her scent was strong and enveloping…smoke and blood, forest flowers and the salt of sweat. Breathing hard, she drank it in without meaning to. At once, the binding tension in her muscles eased…but her heartbeat sped faster.

It was a good scent, a somehow comforting scent. A scent of strength and protection.

And yet it was also the scent of a predator. Of imminent death.

“I’ve got you,” murmured the predator, slinging the strap of her weapon over her shoulder as she ran with Mika through the wood. “I’ve got you.”

But rather than plunging deeper into the trees or taking her back to the clearing, Retga made for the chasm wall. A cave-pocked expanse where water trickled between ferns and small trees whose foliage draped down like curtains. Ducking under the faint spray of one of the falls into a gem-studded cave, Retga pressed Mika to a ledge of stone. Her body filled the rest of the space, dashing all hope of escape.

The clustered crystals, which glowed a dim, acidic green, turned gradually violet.

“I must get to the creature!” Mika cried, struggling against Retga’s hold. “I must help!”

“There’s nothing you can do now except get in the way,” growled the orc. “And someone’s got to keep you safe.” Her lips pulled back to one side to bare her sharpened canines, and Mika saw that they were dripping with saliva. Shifting her weight to one arm, Retga wiped at her mouth.

The orc was quite literally drooling over her.

“Your scent…” said Retga, an edge of shame in her voice. “It’s gotten stronger. Much stronger.”

The beast Sang again, and though its voice had weakened greatly, the air was filled again with the sounds of ensuing chaos. Whipping vines, more orcs shouting, their voices cut off suddenly, bodies hitting the ground. From the sound of it, there were very few left standing. And the one opposing orc doing all of the shooting, all the damage…they were off in the trees to the far side of the clearing.

To have remained unmolested so long, they must be well-hidden indeed. And as Thrall Alaric possessed no elves, they were most likely a Greensinger. Quietly calling out, warping the forest around them as shield and shelter.

“No,” said Mika. “No! you brought me here to be bait, let me be bait!”

“What?” Retga scoffed. “Did Kurr hit your head? The quarry’s right there!”

“Not monster bait,” she sniffed. “Orc bait.”

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Blood dripped from the fresh wound on her arm as Mika fought her way through the moss, far enough past the tree line that it cloaked her in its shadow. None of those who still fought in the clearing noticed her. But the scent of her blood perfumed the air well enough. Retga’s reaction had assured her of that. The wind helped, of course, faint though it was, flowing from and behind her and then upward again in a great circle. The hushed melody which conjured it was clear enough to Mika, and so too were the footsteps pressing through the moss several paces deeper in the wood. But orc hearing wasn’t nearly so keen.

And then she heard it—the low, quiet Greensong from somewhere ahead and above.

Mika pressed on, missing the ease of Retga’s arms as she struggled through the undergrowth. And as she drew nearer, the voice faltered. She peered up into the trees, and still she saw only fronds, branches and thorns.

Red leaves rained down all around her, a huge figure dropping into their midst. Mika stumbled backward, tripping on her skirts and falling into the sinking moss.

The orc stared down at her, eyes wide and wild. His expression was tortured, almost confused. He held his weapon loosely by one hand, its barrel dragging in the moss. His slavering jaws gaped wide to fully display his tusks and teeth. He lurched forward…and then stopped suddenly. His body tensed, jerking minutely back. He was fighting himself.

But from the look of it, he wouldn’t hold out for long.

“Please,” he said, the words slurred by saliva. “Please get away from me, before…”

A rumbling growl rolled up his throat, cutting off his words. And then he lunged.

Rapid footsteps smashed through the undergrowth, a voice rang out—loud and rich as Retga poured forth her last reserves of power. A battering ram of wind punched into the Greensinger, sending him flying, his head smacked against the trunk of a thorny tree as he crashed into the undergrowth. He didn’t get up again.

The next thing Mika knew, Retga was kneeling before her, breathing hard through her mouth. Layered strips of fabric still covered her nose, pilfered from an unconscious rival orc they’d found bound to a tree by its vines. The prince pulled what she had left of the material from her pocket belt, and Mika held her arm out for her to bind the wound. Then, hoisting her back up again, Retga headed for the clearing.

Mika’s eyes watered as they made sense of what she saw there. The beast lay, broken and bleeding, in a bed of newly-grown blossoms. But its chest still heaved, and it lifted its head feebly upon scenting her, ears twitching upward. Its thoughts were faint, hopeless.

The other orcs—those who were still concious—had disengaged, watching as the pair of them passed. Only three of Thrall Alaric still stood to Uthur’s five. The shooter in the trees had ceased, and all had exhausted their Singing. And so the hunt was over.

The prince’s arms tightened around her as they approached. And though at first Mika thought Retga meant to restrain her, she was instead set down upon her own two feet a moment later. As she tripped toward the beast, hands outstretched and tears streaming readily from her eyes, an orc broke away from the others to stalk her way. But Mika’s eyes were all for the beautiful, dying beast whose heartstrings were tied to hers. She fell to her knees at its side, stroking a hand over its soft green fur.

“I’m s-so sorry,” she stammered through the tears. “I’m sorry I c-couldn’t save you.”

Then the other orc was beside her, his now-familiar scent marking him out. Conifer needles and leather and sun shining on mountain stone, pricking at her nostrils. Uthur.

Bending his knee at her side, he lay one hand upon the creature’s flank. His golden eyes closed, his lips parted.

Then he began to Sing.