From on high, the golden eyes peered down at Flinzer. In a flash, he unslung his bow, drew an arrow, and prepared to loose. But as the tawny watcher rose, he hesitated. She was no wolf and there was something strange in her stare.

He was surprised to find her pupils were round, instead of catseyed. Arrow nocked, Flinzer might have made the shot, but he was against the sun and spellbound by the gorgeous beast. The noon glare rippled across the puma’s fur as she stretched and yawned, utterly unafraid.

To his left, a bowstring twanged and broke the glamor. Cocker’s arrow cracked against the cliff. The puma turned tail and vanished into the spruce.

“Why didn’t you kill it?” Cocker demanded.

“Out of range,” Flinzer claimed.

Cocker gave him a look but couldn’t complain since his own shot fell short. Silently, Flinzer was glad he’d missed.

“I’ve never seen a puma before. Wouldn’t have seen that one had the sun not shifted,” Flinzer marveled.

“How long was that thing watching us?” Stripes asked.

“Just as long as we’ve been following her,” Whent said. The men all turned to him.

“No!” Bluddox groaned.

“Afraid so. Remember that track in the snow?” Whent pointed up at the cliff. “Puma fits it perfect.”

“Why didn’t you think of that back then?” Cocker asked.

“Didn’t expect a mountain lion to be leading us through the frozen lowlands, you insufferable nit. This is witches’ work.”

“Witchcraft? Or just a trained cat?” Stripes offered.

“Maybe that’s no lion a’tall. Witches can change forms,” Ives said in a low voice. Ames nodded in agreement.

Cocker’s eyes flashed with alarm. He squinted up at the cliffs, hand at his sword’s hilt. Stripes opened his mouth, no doubt about to decry the idea, but Ames caught his eye and winked. They were only winding Cocker. It worked.

Cocker must have looked over his shoulder a hundred times as they made their way out of the badlands. To their great relief, he was too shaken to speak. They picked their way out of the maze, lost in thought. Flinzer was certain he’d seen something strange in the wildcat’s stare, but he couldn’t put a name to it.

He knows the name of every beast, Lilleen had warned. For the tenth time, Flinzer ran every word she’d said through his head. For the hundredth, he wished he’d wasted these days in bed instead.

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Though Flinzer’s map was good as gold, it took much of the afternoon to escape Griefgarden. Keen to avoid another night in the open, they forged north and hoped to find a windbreak in the foothills. It seemed a wrong turn at first, but as the day dwindled, they came across a shuttered mineshaft.

The place had been sealed off for ages since the days of the rainbow copper rush. They pried open the ancient door, and on Bluddox’s warning, lit brands and cast them inside before they entered. The big man had done time in the mines of Wyrth. Bad air lurked in dead shafts. The first torch sputtered out, but the second burned true. They wedged the door wide to let the mine breathe and split up to forage and gather firewood.

Flinzer usually foraged, but tonight, he went with the fireteam. He hoped a bit of labor might clear his head. Downhill from the mine, trembling poplars grew along the banks of frozen brook. They followed it and found a beaver lodge locked in a frozen pond. It was easy enough to piggyback off the rodents’ hard work and trim some limbs from their dam.

On their way back, a shadow hopped into their path, far ahead. Dead silent, Stripes set down his load, drew his bow, and took careful aim from a hundred paces away. His arrow took the prize through both eyes. Flinzer whistled at the remarkable shot. Beaver meat was tough and oily, but it was better than hardtack, by far.

As they approached, they were delighted to find it was no beaver at all. Stripes had potted a huge hare. Nearly twenty pounds, the tundra hare’s coat was halfway between a dappled summer gray and winter white, with thick bands of fat beneath. The men tossed down their loads to clap Stripes on the back. Tonight, they would feast. Back at the mine, Cocker and Whent arrived with a bulging sack full of forage. Their luck was on the mend.

All smiles, the men built a campfire, sat around the spit, rubbed their palms, and slavered like hounds. Flinzer fixed a stick to his silver pot to catch the drippings and stewed a savory gravy of wood sorrel, king bolette, and wild hardneck garlic. Rich, crackling rabbit put the taste of betrayal out of Flinzer’s mouth. They slept well for the first time since Sunnyside, snug inside the dead mine.

Flinzer drew the lone watch between midnight and early morn. He paced at the mouth of the mine while snores rattled inside. Generally, midnight watch was considered the worst draw, but Flinzer didn’t mind. He needed a chance to be alone and compose his thoughts.

The clouds drifted apart, and a vast swath of stars shone through. Flinzer stepped away from the rock awning to stand beneath them. In the frigid air, sound carried forever. Blue green aurora spiraled across the sky, the Wanderstar’s Veil.

Once, a drunken gypsy had told Flinzer his future was woven in a loom that tied the stars together, and for a few coins, the thread might be unraveled. Flinzer declined at the time and still saw no fortune between the stars. He admired them instead.

The foothills shimmered with fairlight. The moon was new, the hills were old, and he didn’t even feel the cold. When the wind fell still, he held his breath, utterly alone in the crystal night. Far to the north, he heard a faint howl, too distant to tell if beast or just the wind. He marked the moon. It was the hour of the wolf.

Flinzer sat beneath the stars, so lost in thought he didn’t bother to wake the next watch. Stripes rose anyway and sat silently at his side. There was no need for words. Dawn broke over the Saracillors and set the whole range aflame. Avar Mountain blazed like a beacon. Flinzer looked across the newborn land, alive and full of purpose.

There was a legend out here he meant to find, and a big, beautiful bounty he aimed to claim. Most of all, he wanted to see the anguish on Moraney’s face when he forked over a fortune in golden ducats.

“We can do it,” Flinzer said.

Stripes was too wise to reply.