The bushes rustled.
Everyone froze. Han Shān's ice crackled. Zhāo Yàn's tails fanned out. Even Mo Xiao's claws extended, ready to gut whatever came through the ferns.
The gold eyes emerged from the shadows.
And then—
Scrabble. Scratch. Tumble.
A very small, very round creature rolled out of the undergrowth, hit a mossy root, and flipped onto its back.
Its tiny legs kicked in the air.
Squeak.
The sound was not threatening.
The sound was, in fact, extremely undignified.
Zhēn blinked. "What is that?"
The creature was smaller than her forearm. Its body was covered in overlapping golden-brown scales that caught the dim jungle light like polished river stones. Its belly, currently exposed to the world, was soft and pale. Its head was small and pointy, with a long snout and two bright, beady eyes that blinked up at the circle of deadly Alphas with complete, utter terror.
It was a pangolin.
A very small, very lost, very terrified pangolin.
