The deepening night was warm despite the light sweep of rain, fragrant with the smell of low-hanging blossom. Odelin hopped across the forest floor at her side as Lowen trudged a weary path through the Scrat village. She could feel the weight of eyes upon her and knew she was being watched from the huts pressed against the trees. The gaze of her mother at her back weighed heaviest of all.

  She drew closer to the cage. Cade had crafted it from the tightly knotted limbs of ironwood oak, a wood so hard and unyielding even a satyr could not break it. Nicanor was crouched against one side, his broad forehead resting on the wooden bars as he stared out into the night. He started with surprise when Lowen moved into view.

  “How are you here?” he said.

  “This is my village.” Lowen smiled despite the dire situation. She reached for his warm hand through the bars and gripped it in hers. “My people have not turned on me yet.”

  “But you believe they will?” The concern in Nicanor’s voice turned a small twist of despair in Lowen’s stomach.

  “My mother does.” She turned away slightly. “Why did you return?”

  “I have been idiotic,” Nicanor admitted. His long, dark lashes swept pale cheeks. “I understood the risk I was taking in coming here, but Odelin made me so fearful.”

  Odelin made a noise for the first time in hours—a short, indignant caw followed by a ruffling of feathers.

  “What do you mean?” Lowen squeezed Nicanor’s hand harder, forcing him to look at her.

  “It seems so foolish now,” he said. “Odelin became agitated this morning. He kept rising in flight to circle above me, then coming back as if he wanted me to follow. I began to believe something was dreadfully wrong.”

  Nicanor flashed the bird a reproachful look and Odelin cocked one bright eye up at him before bending to search for insects in the soft earth at his feet.

  “Odelin led me through the forest in the direction of your village. He became more animated the closer to Kree we got, and we arrived just in time to witness your people burying that boar carcass. I was able to observe the extent of the brutality for myself.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “It saddens me the Scrat are still willing to believe the satyr capable of such a thing. I would have waited for nightfall and made my way to your grandmother’s hut undetected, but I was unlucky this time. A small number of your people found me and dragged me from my hiding place.”

  “Are you much hurt?” Lowen whispered.

  Nicanor shook his head, but beneath the rising light of Aikana Lowen could plainly see the deep bruises blooming across his bare torso. A bloody welt rose wetly from his swollen lips and when he moved into a more comfortable sitting position, he winced. Lowen began to tremble, not with grief or fear, but with rage. She wanted to scream into the night, to rip Nicanor’s cage apart with her bare hands.

  “I cannot bear this,” she said.

  “We must stay strong. We must think only of our child.”

  “If this baby is born shot through with the heat of my anger, she will be all the stronger for it. She will thank me, for this world is malicious and harsh and brutal.”

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  They lapsed into silence. From somewhere far above, an owl hooted into the violet dark.

  “My mother has insisted that I leave,” Lowen finally said. “I told her I would not go without you, but she said it was impossible. She will send for Pyros to take you back to the satyrs and I will fly into the forest, south towards Jonick.”

  Conflict passed across Nicanor’s face, darkening his eyes and creasing his forehead. “I do not like the thought of your travelling alone. The Deep Forest is an old, odd place, full of danger for those who stray from the paths.”

  “Believe me, I know, but Odelin will be with me. He will bring you to me once I am safe.”

  Nicanor pulled away from the bars with a low rumble of anger, one hoof kicking against the wood surrounding him on all sides. The ironwood oak barely shivered from the impact.

  “I should not be caged like this,” he cried. Then louder, lifting his voice so those keeping watch from their huts would hear, “I am not an animal, I have done nothing wrong. You have beaten me and imprisoned me; you are the animals. Let me out, you fools. Let me go free and you will never see me in this place again.”

  “It’s useless,” Lowen said. “My people will never trust the satyr. And they will not allow our child to exist. That is why I must go.”

  Nicanor reached for her hand again, entwining her fingers in his as he brought her close. Lowen wondered if he would let her go. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Odelin who began hopping up and down, lifting his wings as though he wanted to take flight. He worried at Lowen’s foot with his beak and she gently shooed him away.

  “What’s the matter, Odelin?” She bent to stroke the bird’s head but he darted from her to beat his wings against Nicanor’s cage.

  Nicanor backed away uneasily. He attempted to rise in the cramped space but only managed to stoop with his head bent at an awkward angle.

  “Your bird is distressed as before,” he said. “This is how Odelin was when he led me to the boar carcass.”

  Lowen had never seen Odelin behave in such a way before. She looked about the clearing, listening for the familiar nighttime sounds of the forest. The silence was too deep. The night birds had stopped calling to each other and the trees were still. Even the spring rain had died away.

  “Something is coming,” she whispered, torn between her desire to stay with Nicanor and a sudden wild impulse to run for the safety of the tree line.

  Before she could make up her mind, a great roar ripped through the night. It could have been a guttural scream of agony or a blind expulsion of rage, Lowen couldn’t tell. She lifted trembling hands to her ears and stared at Nicanor, the pale terror in his face matching her own. When the terrible, wrenching sound finally ceased, its echo continued to rebound against the dense canopy of the trees. The Scrat opened the doors of their huts and poured out into the village, confused and frightened.

  “What in Aikana’s name was that?”

  “I’ve never heard such a noise before.”

  “I thought my ears would burst.”

  “That satyr has something to do with it. His people have come to claim him.”

  Lowen pressed herself against Nicanor’s cage. She wrapped her fingers tight around the bars as though it was a raft floating amid the sudden tide of people. The villagers turned towards the Chieftain’s hut, falling silent when Kerra emerged to stand before them.

  “Did anyone see what manner of creature made that noise?” she asked.

  The Scrat began to murmur amongst themselves but were silenced when the sound rang out again. It was closer this time, so loud and desperate the Scrat began to panic, grasping for their children and moving to huddle together.

  “Gather yourselves,” Kerra shouted from her position on the steps. “Remember who you are. You are Scrat. You are warriors.”

  With a great crashing and rending of branches almost as loud as the continual scream, a pulsating giant loomed into view. It clawed its way from the forest and into the clearing, enormous rheumy eyes mad and rolling. At the gnawing edges of Lowen’s consciousness, the world became unreal, as if the fabric of the forest would unwind at any moment and drift up into the purple velvet of the sky. A creature of nightmare had stumbled into the heart of Kree and only the desperate shouts of the terrified tribe convinced her it was real.