The morning was grey and cold. Fog hung over the valley. The village was quiet, most people still asleep.
I packed my bag before dawn. Rope. Knife. A torch. A piece of bread.
Elias watched me from the fire pit.
"You're going back down?"
"The village needs meat. The mother needs food. And I need more crystals."
He nodded. "Be careful."
"I will."
I looked up at the cliff. The mother was already awake, sitting at the cave mouth, watching. Her pups tumbled behind her. She had been up there for days now, healing, waiting.
"I'll be back in two days," I said.
Elias didn't answer.
I walked toward the shaft.
---
The descent took longer than usual. The rope was worn, my arms were tired. I lowered myself slowly, hand over hand, boots scraping the stone.
The shaft was dark, cold. The crystals glowed faintly, blue and green, casting long shadows on the walls. I had been here before, many times. But each time, the darkness felt heavier.
I reached the bottom and lit my torch.
The cavern opened before me. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like stone teeth. The floor was littered with broken rock and old bones. The troglodyte's lair. Dead now. But other things had moved in.
I heard them before I saw them. Skittering. Hissing.
Cave lizards.
---
I spent the first day hunting.
The lizards were small, pale, blind. They moved fast, but they were predictable. They came at me in groups, snapping with needle teeth. I killed them with my spear. One, two, three. I gutted them, wrapped the meat in oiled cloth.
I also found crystals. Small ones, embedded in the walls. I pried them loose with my knife and put them in my leather pouch. They hummed against my fingers, faint and warm.
I thought about the village. About Lora, who would be waiting by the fire. About Lena, who would be playing with her wooden bird. About the mother, watching from the cliff.
I thought about the soldiers. They hadn't come yet. But they would. Elias said so. The one who ran would bring others.
I pried another crystal from the wall.
Not yet. But soon.
---
I slept in the shaft that night.
There was a ledge near the bottom, wide enough to lie on. I wrapped myself in my cloak and stared at the ceiling. The crystals glowed above me like stars.
I dreamed of the cell. The cracked ceiling. The needle. The bird on the windowsill.
I woke before dawn.
---
The second day was harder.
I killed more lizards. I found a larger creature – a blind snake, thick as my arm, with rows of needle teeth. It came at me from a side tunnel. I stabbed it twice before it stopped moving. The meat was tough but edible.
I skinned it and wrapped the meat with the rest.
I also found a cluster of large crystals, deep in a side cavern. They pulsed with blue light, warm to the touch. I pried them loose – five, six, seven – and put them in my pouch. The pouch grew heavy.
I thought about the mother. She would be hungry. Her pups would be nursing. She had been watching for days, waiting for me to bring food.
I thought about the village. They would be running low on supplies. The children would be crying at night.
I decided to climb out at midday.
---
While I was in the hole, the soldiers came.
---
They arrived at noon. Five of them. Grey cloaks. Swords drawn. One carried a torch, though the sun was high. They walked in formation, boots crunching on the dry grass, and stopped at the edge of the village.
Elias saw them first. He was mending a net near the stream. He stood up slowly, his hands shaking.
"Rik," he called. "Paul. Marta."
People emerged from their lean‑tos. Children hid behind their mothers. Rik grabbed his spear. Paul hefted an axe. Marta picked up a rock.
The leader stepped forward. He was tall, scarred, with a cold smile.
"We're looking for a beast," he said. "Big. Grey. Killed our scouts. We traced it to this valley."
"We don't know any beast," Elias said.
The soldier laughed. "Everyone knows a beast. Hand it over, or we take it by force."
He raised his sword. The other soldiers fanned out.
---
The fight was short but brutal.
Rik stabbed one soldier in the leg. The soldier fell, cursing. Paul swung his axe at another, caught him in the shoulder. Blood sprayed. The soldier staggered but didn't fall.
But the soldiers were trained. They had fought before. They had killed before.
One soldier disarmed Rik with a swift slash. Another knocked Paul to the ground with the flat of his sword. A third grabbed Lena.
Lena screamed.
She was small, nine years old, with braids in her hair. The soldier who held her pressed a knife to her throat.
"Call off your people," he said, "or the girl dies."
Rik dropped his spear. Paul lowered his axe. Marta put her hands up.
"Please," Rik said. "She's my sister."
The soldier smiled. "Now, where is the beast?"
---
The mother was watching from the cliff.
She had seen the soldiers arrive. She had seen them strike down Rik, wound Paul, grab the girl. Her pups were in the den behind her, safe. They were small, grey, with eyes barely open. They squirmed against her belly, hungry.
She did not move.
These were not her people. Not her pups. She had no reason to fight. The hooded one had fed her, but he was not here. The villagers had feared her. She owed them nothing.
The soldier pressed the knife closer. Lena whimpered. A thin line of blood appeared on her neck.
Rik was on his knees. "Please. Don't hurt her."
The soldier looked up at the cliff. He saw the mother watching.
"There she is," he said. "Kill the beast."
Two soldiers ran toward the cliff.
The mother did not move.
Then Lena cried out. Not a scream – a cry. The same sound her own pups made when they were hungry, when they were cold, when they needed her.
The mother looked at the girl. Then she looked back at her own pups, huddled in the den behind her.
She charged.
---
She came down the cliff like a landslide.
Grey fur, yellow eyes, teeth bared. The first soldier didn't even have time to scream. She hit him low, her jaws closing around his throat. He went down, blood spraying.
The second soldier stabbed wildly. His spear caught her flank – a glancing blow, not deep, but enough to draw blood. She spun and clamped her jaws on his arm. Bone crunched. He dropped his spear and screamed.
The third soldier ran. He didn't look back. The fourth tried to flee, but she was faster. She brought him down from behind, her teeth sinking into his leg. He fell, cursing, and she left him there.
The soldier holding Lena froze. His knife trembled. He looked at the mother, covered in blood, standing over the bodies of his men. Her flanks were heaving. Her fur was wet – but it could have been soldier blood. No one knew. No one asked.
He dropped the knife. He ran.
She let him go.
Lena scrambled away, into Rik's arms.
The mother stood in the center of the village, breathing hard. Her side burned – the wound from the spear, shallow but painful. She looked at the villagers. Some were crying. Some were staring. One old woman crossed herself.
She limped back to the cliff and climbed.
She did not look back.
---
The villagers buried the soldiers.
They dug graves near the edge of the forest, deep enough to keep the animals away. Rik's leg was bandaged. Paul's shoulder was wrapped. Marta built up the fire.
Lena sat by the fire, silent, staring at the cliff.
"Will she be okay?" she asked.
No one answered.
---
Ash was deep in the hole.
He didn't know what was happening above. He had been down there for two days, killing lizards, gathering crystals. The shaft was dark, cold, silent. The only sounds were the drip of water and the scrape of his boots on stone.
He thought about the mother. She would be hungry. Her pups would be nursing. She had been watching for days, waiting for him to bring food.
He thought about the village. They would be running low on supplies. The children would be crying at night.
He decided to climb out at midday.
---
The sun was low when he reached the top.
The valley was quiet. Too quiet. No smoke from the fires. No children laughing.
He walked toward the village. The lean‑tos were damaged. The fire pit was scattered. There was blood on the grass – dried, brown.
Rik saw him and ran. His face was pale. His leg was bandaged.
"Ash. You're back."
"What happened?"
"Soldiers. Two days ago. Five of them. They came while you were down. They took Lena."
Ash's chest tightened. "Where is she?"
"She's safe. The mother – she came down from the cliff. Killed them. Saved Lena."
Ash looked up at the cliff. The cave mouth was empty.
"Is she hurt?"
"I don't know. She went back up after. Didn't let anyone near her. That was two days ago."
Two days. A wound untreated for two days. In the damp, in the dirt, with no one to clean it.
"Has anyone been up?"
"No. She won't let us. She growls if anyone gets close."
Ash dropped his bag. "I'll go now."
"Ash, it's almost dark."
"Then I'll go at first light."
He sat by the dead fire. He didn't sleep.
---
He thought about the mother. About the wound he hadn't seen. About the blood that might have been hers.
A wound from a spear. Even a shallow cut could fester in two days. The cave was damp. The den was dirty. She had been lying in her own filth, nursing her pups, refusing help.
He thought about Lena. About the wooden bird she had given him. About the way she had smiled when he carried her on his back.
The mother had saved her. For that, Ash owed her everything.
---
At first light, he climbed.
The path was steep, slick with dew. His hands were cold. His heart pounded.
The smell hit him before he saw her.
Rot. Sweet and sour. Thick enough to make his eyes water.