This time they did not bother to cover her head.

Haldrych and Adelmar dragged Wurhi the Rat by her bronze-bound wrists - so firmly did the metal restrain her limbs that her hands and feet had numbed. She could hear her feet and rodent’s tail bouncing over the cold stone floor. Behind them came a column of masked men, all cowed by thunderous bellows and silent ire.

In the offing, anguished screams emanated from the depths of the beast-man’s core - smothering the constant chanting that filled the mountain - while Milos marched ahead in a fit of icy fury. His every step landed with the weight of a wrathful giant resolved to punch through the earth, and Wurhi thought best to keep herself quiet.

No good would come from attracting his attention now: he might well tear her head from her neck. Every acolyte seemed to share her thoughts - for they stepped as though carrying their mothers’ precious clay pots upon their heads.

Well, nearly every acolyte.

“The scroll burns down on your little nasty life, vile thief,” the foul tones of Haldrych Ameldan hissed into her ear. His disgusting breath slithered across her flesh. “And now the ink dries on your final gasps,” he laughed. “For your sake, I hope you enjoyed your little tantrum. You sealed your own fate because of it, and now I shall finally get to watch you die.”

His voice had a manic tinge to it and the grip that tightened upon her arm was slicked by cold sweat. The Eye of Radiin clinked with his movements. “At last justice is served to me on a golden platter. Both you and that other woman finally get what’s coming.”

‘What?’ she wondered in irritation. ‘What other wom-’

“Haldrych!” Adelmar Horvoth whispered, gripping Wurhi’s other arm. “Quiet before he hears you!”

The young poet grinned through his mask. “I’m just having a bit of joy, Adelmar. It is a good day. A good-”

“Whelp, if you utter another word, I shall tear your tongue from your mouth and feed it to you.” Milos’ voice shook with constrained fury.

“A-apologies, Sacred Alpha!” Adelmar stammered.

Unperturbed, Haldrych threw Wurhi a sneer and gave her broken hand a vicious squeeze.

Crk.

Bone shifted with an explosion of agony. She groaned.

Whooosh.

His grip loosened as a sound, rare as of late, murmured from ahead - a whispering wind that carried winter’s chill and sweet mountain air.

She gave a little gasp.

The dark receded as they wound up the tunnel, retreating before the low light of dusk. Were they to leave the mountain? Wild hope and dread grew in her with every step toward the light.

Milos likely only brought her here for some fatal purpose, yet if she could slip the cultist encirclement and her bonds, she might have a chance at escape. She would need to evade the cultists in the valley afterward, but any hope was better than none.

Steeling herself, the Zabyallan prepared to react to even the slightest hint of good fortune. Light dawned where the tunnel’s end was met with a growing roar of water. They must have come near where the river exited from beneath the mountain.

Would they toss her, bound, into its rapids and leave her to drown?

Or would-

Sniff.

Her breath stopped.

No…no…no.

A familiar odour stalked toward her as they stepped through the cave-mouth: one that bore a fearsome terror. When last she had smelled it, it had been combined with the blood of dying manticores.

No! Shit Shit! That was what he intended for her!

She needed to get away! Now!

In the light of the dying sun and rising moon, they dragged her onto a plateau fused to the edge of the mountain. Its sides rose high and smooth from the snow-battered stones far below. From this height, towering pine trees appeared like mere blades of grass.

Whoosh.

The wind washed over her and whipped the cultists’ robes about; Haldrych shielded his eyes from its frigid bite.

His grip loosened.

Now!

She twisted from his grasp.

Amid cries of alarm, she thrashed until her captors lost their hold and she crashed to the stones. Heart thundering and caught in the throes of panic, she drove her bound body to roll toward the edge, where she thought the river might be.

This would be it.

Her final gamble.

If her luck held, she would find some stony protrusion to grasp before she plummeted to her ruin. If it did not? Then the water would strike the life from her and take her in its icy embrace. Death would be mercifully quick. Either would be better than what awaited her here.

Woman and rat cleaved to each other as the edge neared.

The wind picked up.

Empty space yawned before her.

A rough hand seized her by the scruff of the neck.

“Oh no, Zabyallan,” Milos’ voice was iron. “Not like that: you go when I say and how I say you go.”

With a strained cry, she thrashed to get free as he hoisted her up with a single hand. Her bound feet kicked futilely above the precipice. His steel grip closed around the back of her neck - driving his fingers into her flesh - and stilling her as five deadly points pressed against her throat. His nails had bloomed into claws.

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“Persist in this struggle, and I shall tear your spine out slowly, measure by measure.” He leaned closer. “You will feel every moment before your body grows dead to you. Then, I will still feed you to my prized pet.”

Wurhi the Rat whimpered, trembling silently in his grip. Wurhi the thief desperately wished to struggle, but the rat had turned against her will. Held by the throat with claws poised above her vein, the beast within had frozen in fear within his death grip.

Her body refused to move no matter how she willed it.

Slowly, he turned her about, and her beady eyes grew wide at what lay in the midst of the plateau. Another pit was sealed by logs that were reinforced with bronze bars and weighted down with enough stones to crush a team of horses.

Her nose told her well what horror awaited within.

The cult leader approached the pit with calculated deliberateness, allowing time for her terror-stricken mind to fully grasp her fate. Were she in human form, her eyes would have welled with tears of anguish. But no tears came now: a cruel way to learn that a rat could not weep.

Her gaze dropped to the dark and was met by a pair of feline eyes as Milos drew closer to the pit. A fearsome intellect lay in their golden depths. Beneath those orbs spread a powerful jaw from which jutted massive fangs that could pierce her body with ease.

They were as ivory swords poised for execution.

The sabre-toothed tiger raised his titanic body to his feet, regarding her and Milos with rapt attention, and let out a rumbling growl that permeated the chasm. Lips peeled back to reveal row upon row of deadly teeth behind the sword-like fangs.

Within those intelligent eyes bloomed a hatred so raw, so profound - so utterly human - that she recoiled despite the claws gripping her neck.

Why? Why her? She had not done anything to it!

“Yes, Zabyallan,” Milos pronounced as acolytes heaved away the many stones. “This is the fate your act of disrespect has earned you. Not a gentle death by swift fall to rushing water.”

Grrrrrrnd.

The bronze-reinforced logs were dragged aside.

The rat within at last shook itself out of its paralysis

Wurhi struggled desperately, chittering and straining in Milos’ grip. Her body writhed, her tail thrashed against his mighty legs, but he was as immovable as stone.

Extending his arm slowly, he suspended her above the dark below.

The great cat paced - gliding over bedding and bone - while those hateful eyes remained fixed on the figures above. From the corner of her vision, Wurhi caught sight of Haldrych Ameldan; he veritably salivated as her doom approached.

Milos of Crotonia paused. “On the walk here I had thought to grant you a small mercy,” he pronounced. “By bidding my pet to slay you at once, you would have suffered agony in death…but it would have been quick.”

He glanced to the precipice from which she had nearly plunged.

“But you have shown that you would choose a quick death.”

His grip began to loosen.

She squealed.

“And that would not equal the harm you have wrought. My other prized pet is crippled by your selfish, impulsive act and Lycundar only knows if I can salvage what remains of him. I offered you a proper place, but his ruin is what you left behind. And so, your suffering shall match his…it will be lingering as well.”

He gestured to the sabre-toothed tiger.

“He was fed a fine, muscled stag and the remnants of a horse’s carcass some time ago: it should be a day and a night before he grows hungry again. He might kill you then. Or, perhaps the next day.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps now. Only he knows that.”

He looked proudly upon the pinnacle of his animal husbandry.

“Use your time to contemplate the path that led you here.”

His grip loosened further.

In desperation, Wurhi tried to reach back with her bound arms.

“Perhaps such reflection will aid you in the after-world.” Milos finished.

His fingers opened.

She shrieked.

Wind rushed by her ears as she dropped.

Thm!

Her body crashed into cold bedding, narrowly missing the broken antlers of some consumed animal. Pain exploded through her upon impact.

Off-balanced, she fought to scramble up, but slipped and splayed upon the ground. The great sabre-toothed tiger glided toward her over the straw - soundless despite its titanic bulk - while the acolytes hurriedly dragged the logs back into place.

She could not fight. She could not flee.

‘I’m going to die,’ she realised.

Her limbs were bound too tightly to use and she could not bring her teeth to bear against this beast; not before a single swipe from its claws would rip out her insides. As it loomed over her, pausing to consider the logs sliding back into place above, she turned her attention to its master. Her lips peeled back from her teeth, and she poured all her hatred into her gaze.

She held his eyes as the gate closed on her life.

‘Filthy, mange carrying, evil dog,’ she snarled in her mind. ‘I curse you. I curse you with everything! With my life! With my death, I curse you like the priestess did that cursed gem! I. Curse. You!”

Thm.

The stones were dragged back.

“Fare poorly, Zabyallan,” Milos said. “When next I lay eyes on you, you will be merely bones.” He glanced to his acolytes. “Come, I must see to my pet and there is much to be done before tonight’s ceremony. If we are to welcome new acolytes into Lycundar’s embrace…we should do one thing that would please him tonight.”

The Sacred Alpha stepped from the pit, and Wurhi knew she would not see him again in this life.

Shaking with wrath, terror and resignation, she turned back to the monstrous cat, baring her teeth. She promised herself to bite it at least once before it swallowed her.

And yet…

She paused.

The beast had turned from its master, but what lingered in those sapient eyes had remained for a few heartbeats - just long enough for cat and rat to catch each other’s gazes. Each recognized the loathing that reflected in the other’s eyes: a loathing driven toward a common target. She had been wrong about its ire, she realised. This creature hated its master just as she did.

Before she could consider this, the beast lunged toward her.

Her courage wilted, and all promises of biting it were forgotten.

What remained was only the instinct that had served her since childhood.

Screeching, Wurhi struggled backward, kicking up straw until her back collided with the bones of the antlered beast. The sabre-toothed tiger followed her, its head drifting low.

Its jaws parted.

With another screech, she closed her eyes and steeled herself for agony.

Sniff.

Sniff.

She heard those great nostrils flare: it was smelling its prey in preparation to swipe her apart with those deadly claws. This breath would be her last.

Wurhi gulped in sweet mountain air.

Now would come the pain.

…

…

…

Alright, so this breath would be her last.

She took another gulp of sweet mountain air.

Now would come the pain.

…

…

…

Alright, so this brea-wait, what was happening? Why was she not dead? Not that she was annoyed about that, but it just seemed like she should be dead by now. Perhaps the beast had hit her so hard that she was thrown from her body before she felt the blow.

That would be nice, she supposed.

Yes, that must have been it.

No doubt she had already arrived in the after-world.

She sighed, slowly opening her eyes to eternity.

Eternity was apparently the face of a rhinoceros-sized sabre-tooth tiger.

She screamed, as was only reasonable. The beast watched her from finger-lengths away, its hot breath flattening her fur. Those eyes measured her, before slowly drifting to the side.

Trembling, she followed its cold gaze.

A rat perched upon the ribcage of the antlered skeleton, chewing a scrap of old meat from the bone, indifferent to the predator looming above. The great cat turned toward the transformed Zabyallan, its nostrils flaring and its eyes continuing to study her.

Silence passed for several heartbeats.

At last it gave a snort, and padded back across the pit. Casting itself down upon the bedding, it lowered its head to its forelegs.

Silence passed for several more heartbeats.

…Huh.

Wurhi blinked.

Wurhi blinked again.

The breath she had held without realising it slowly released from her lungs.

She glanced to the rat obliviously eating within the den of this predator. Then she noticed another. And another. Rats scurried through the hay to feast on the sabre-toothed tiger’s leftovers, not fearing it at all. It ignored them in turn.

…but why?

Her beady eyes widened as she remembered its snort of distaste at her scent.

Oh. Oh by the gods, it didn’t like rat meat!

This cat did not eat rats!

A strange, wheezing sound emerged from her snout, one that shook her form and drew the sabre-tooth’s curious gaze.

It was a cruel way to learn that a rat could not laugh.

She did not notice another pair of eyes watching from above.