“Kalanthia,” I start, stepping in front of the lizard-man. When those furious eyes connect properly with mine, I realise how stupid I was to have imagined she was actually looking at me before: the eye contact and mental projection behind it hits me like a blow. There are no words, just sheer emotion projected through her gaze.

When I feel the wariness through my Bonds and see Bastet taking a few steps back as well, the cubs even running back to hide behind me, I realise that it’s not just me feeling this. I almost take a small step back involuntarily, but manage after that to hold my ground with sheer force of will, swallowing hard. I’d thought that I’d seen Kalanthia angry before when she thought I was trying to tame her cub; I hadn’t known what rage was.

This...it’s like I’m back in a Battle of Wills, with the fire hose completely directed my way. Pressure beats against me, trying to force me to submit, to move. But I won’t. I can’t. Somehow I know that River is only alive right now because Lathani is snuggling in her mother’s fur. But even that tether is fragile and could break at any moment. I’m the one who brought River here; I’m responsible for keeping him alive.

“Kalanthia,” I repeat again. “He’s one of my Bound. He helped Lathani to escape. We wouldn’t have made it without him.” Short sentences are easier when just speaking feels like an impossible task. The pressure doesn’t let up for a long moment and then the fiery emotion behind the massive nunda’s eyes is banked. Not gone, never gone. Just hidden away again. I breathe properly for the first time in what feels like minutes, but was probably less than one.

Do you take responsibility for any of his actions going forward? she asks, her mental voice forcibly calm, but with the promise of explosive violence never far from it. I gulp a little.

“I do,” I agree, my voice quieter than I’d intended. Not that it matters too much; all present have better hearing than me. “As with all my Bound,” I add, just to be clear.

Then in recognition of this great deed you have done me, I shall allow the lizard-kin a reprieve this day. A decision on his fate shall be made after all facts have been brought to light. We have much to discuss, you and I. With that vaguely threatening finish, she turns slightly to nose searchingly into her fur. Straightening up, I see that she has Lathani held gently within her jaws, the juvenile nunda cradled behind her mother’s massive canines. Despite the growth spurt she’s put on, Lathani still looks like little more than a cub dangling there. I can’t imagine what she used to look like when her mother picked her up before. She was probably able to simply sit in her mother’s mouth without emerging from either side at all.

I shall see you at the den, Kalanthia says before turning tail and disappearing into the forest. And I mean literally disappearing: the giant nunda reveals exactly how she manages to hunt prey despite being roughly the size of a full-grown African bull elephant. Doing a Cheshire cat, she displays an ability to fade into her surroundings, her spots the last parts to vanish. I watch her disappear wide-eyed: her stealth is off the scale. I didn’t realise it was even possible to vanish with such focus on her.

There’s silence for a good thirty seconds after Kalanthia has vanished. We all stare at the spot where we last saw her, and I don’t think I’m the only one wondering if she’s still there. Once more, I’m glad that I never met Kalanthia while she was hunting: I wouldn’t even have known what killed me.

In the end, it’s the cubs who break the silence. Although they’d been affected by the tension as much as anyone else, despite not understanding what was going on, they’ve clearly decided that the danger’s over; it’s time to play. The complaint of Ninja when Trouble leaps on top of her to wrestle is enough to shake us out of our stillness.

“So,” I say to no one in particular. “That was Kalanthia.” River, who’s still standing just beside me, turns a little.

I truly believe you, he tells me, the emotions coming across the Bond showing how truly shaken he feels.

“About what?” I ask, confused.

That my people would have been doomed if I had not helped you bring the cub back. I do not think the Great Predator would have waited much longer to come searching herself.

“No,” I agree, though can’t help wondering why she hadn’t come looking. Not that I’m complaining: it would have been a complete mess if we had arrived back to find her gone. But we’ve been gone for several days, longer than Kalanthia would have expected, surely. Unless she knew something we didn’t. She probably does – she’s a cat, after all. Sort of. And felines seem to make a habit of knowing more than everyone else, or seeming to, at least. “Anyway,” I say after dismissing the thought, “let’s get going.”

We start moving, Bastet falling to the back to make sure the cubs keep up. Spotting that, I order Fenrir to scout ahead, taking her position. Sirocco, of course, is also scouting ahead, meaning we have eyes both on the ground and in the air. Frankly, in comparison to the constant expectation of attack I always used to have while walking through these woods, now I feel like it’s almost a stroll in the park. Not completely: I’m still aware that an attack could come at any moment; it’s simply less likely to come without warning. Spotting a tuft of familiar leaves, I make a happy noise. “Hold on everyone,” I say.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The rest of the cavalcade pauses briefly for me to dig up the plant. Sticking the tubers into my Inventory, I grin. Roast potato tonight, I think. Ooh, with salt. I’d almost forgotten that we haven’t been back home since going to explore the tunnel and finding a salt cave inhabited by a tentacled monster. I hope everything back there is fine…

You didn’t have to, River tells me as we start walking again.

“Didn’t have to what?” I ask, thinking about digging up the tubers. No, I didn’t have to, but I’m tired of meat.

Stand in front of me, defend me. Oh. That’s what he’s talking about. I shrug, feeling a little confused.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Incredulity comes across the Bond from him.

Why wouldn’t you choose to step between a clearly furious powerful predator and the source of her ire? he asks with the accompanying feelings of wondering if I have a screw loose. So much for being polite, I remark wryly to myself.

“No,” I correct, unruffled. “Why wouldn’t I defend someone who has gone above and beyond to fulfil the spirit of his vow, putting himself in a number of dangerous situations without complaint? Even though it was Bond that brought us together, I can’t help but feel we’ve become, or started to become...friends.” It’s the first time I’ve said the last out loud, but it feels...good to say. Like I’m acknowledging that I don’t have to be alone or hold myself somehow above my Bound just because of the Bond. “At least, that’s how I feel. Maybe you don’t feel the same,” I add, feeling suddenly nervous – maybe I read the situation wrong. River is silent for a little time.

If one is in the grasp of a marlen, although I have no idea what he just said there, the accompanying image of an animal which has far too many legs, or maybe tentacles, and which is almost impossible to escape the grasp of once trapped is clear enough, a friend does not jump into the situation with him, but attempts to slay the beast. Or, if the beast is too powerful to slay, will offer his friend a clean death and will go to warn the village. Jumping into the grasp of the beast will merely lead to another victim, he points out eventually, side-stepping the question. I huff again. Fine. If he doesn’t want to answer, I’m not going to ask again. And I don’t agree with what he said. Not entirely, at least.

“Where I come from, we have a little saying: friends will pick you up from jail; best friends will be sitting in the jail cell next to you.” River stares at me blankly.

I don’t understand. What is a ‘jail’ or ‘jail cell’? I shake my head. Figures the translation wouldn’t work: the lizard-folk probably don’t have jails.

“It’s a type of punishment from my world. Basically, it’s saying that your closest friends will share both the good times and bad with you. And that’s why I stepped between you and Kalanthia. I take the point that in some cases, if one person is in a bad situation, another jumping in beside them may not help. In other cases, however, they may provide moral support, companionship, or even mitigate the situation. As just now. I felt it was unlikely that she would kill me, but it seemed all too likely that she would kill you.”

You could not have known that, he pointed out. That rage… I sense the Bond between us shiver even though no such movement rocks his body. I have never felt the like.

“No, I didn’t,” I admitted, shivering a little myself at the memory. “But from what I have experienced of her, Kalanthia is remarkably fair. I was willing to roll the dice.”

But why? he demands. I acknowledge culpability for my actions towards Lathani in the past. Is this the first time he’s used her name? Possibly. Unless he’s used it with her directly without me being part of the conversation. It’s not like I created mischief like a hatchling; I helped do terrible things to Lathani, things that will permanently affect her. I deserve to face her mother’s wrath, to take her justified rage. In fact, you should offer me as a sacrifice to her rage tomorrow. If it will stop her from raining her wrath on my village, I will bear the cost willingly.

I’m silent for a few moments. He’s right in some ways, and it’s admirable that he’s willing to face the consequences of his own actions: so many are not. Including me much of the time, although I hate to admit it. But as a wise man once said, ‘an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind’. If tomorrow Kalanthia is bound and determined to claim River’s life, there’s probably very little I can do to stop her, bar physically imposing myself between them. But that doesn’t mean I won’t do my best to seek another solution.

“Acknowledging the consequences of one’s actions is important,” I agree, working through my own feelings, “and I have no doubt that such consequences will be part of the conversation I’m due to have with Kalanthia tomorrow.” Honestly, I’m both anticipating and dreading said discussion. She’s right: we have much to discuss, but I don’t look forward to having to argue for why Kalanthia should leave one of the main participants in her cub’s torture unscathed. “But what good does killing you do?

“Kalanthia will still be angry, Lathani will still be affected, and your village will still be in danger. In some ways, living with guilt is the harder option.” The words come from deep within. I took myself up to the roof because of guilt and fear. Stepping off it would have been cowardice, not bravery – an inability to face up to a thousand of my own actions and inactions. River is a hundred times braver than I was then, but even so, death isn’t the answer. “If you want to make amends, we’ll work something out together with Kalanthia that can actually help Lathani. And maybe, after some time, you will no longer feel guilty.” I start moving again. A long moment goes by before River responds.

I consider you my friend too, he says in a voice that, if it were not mentally transferred directly to my brain, I wouldn’t have heard it. A quiet smile grows on my face that no one sees but the trees around.