The fox was helpless. Immobilized. It wouldn’t be able to break free on its own.
It needed a hero.
Like one of the many brave warriors Kestrel had read about.
The Maw was distracted. This was her chance to do something courageous.
Thom would tell her to run. To leave the fox behind to fend for itself while she used the distraction to get as far away from the Maw as possible. He wouldn’t even hesitate. Even now, she heard him shouting in her mind to—run. Go. Flee. What are you doing? Get out of there!
“Leave it,” the Maw hissed, shattering her thoughts. “The creature is mine.”
And if she hadn’t been convinced already, Kestrel certainly was now.
She would not leave the poor fox to its death. Especially not after it had just saved her life.
The fox bit into the tentacle over and over again, as Kestrel shoved herself onto shaking feet. Black oil stained the fox’s jaw and chest; it matted its fur. It was a fighter, and Kestrel knew both from her books and from Thom’s own adventures, that fighters always prevailed.
Before anyone could talk her out of it, Kestrel bolted for the fox.
The earth crunched beneath her pounding strides, rocks and dust spewing behind her like ocean mist. Beneath her, the ground rumbled. A slow and steady growl that seemed to creep right behind her, darting with her every move. As if something were chasing her.
Kestrel didn’t look back.
Blade held high, she leapt into the air and struck the monstrous tentacle with all her might. The knife pierced into the oily flesh up to the hilt. She pulled the knife back out, ready to strike again but the tentacle writhed. It uncoiled on impact, and deep within the Maw, the monster roared as it jerked its limb back toward safety.
The fox tumbled to the ground in a heap. Its eyes were open, gazing up at Kestrel with something between despair and hope as the poor creature crumpled limply, its body unmoving aside from its heaving breaths.
Kestrel shoved the knife back into her belt, gathered the fox into her arms, and ran.
Somewhere, distantly, she could hear Thom calling out for her again, hear him begging her to come back and save him. But now she knew he had never been real. A trick that the Maw had played on her to lure her toward her death.
Even as her tears blurred her vision, Kestrel kept running.She ran long after Thom’s voice shifted back into the Maw’s. Long after the monster’s rage and cries went silent.
Only once she was certain the Maw was no more than a black speck on the horizon behind them, only once they reached a spire of rocks thick enough that even the Maw’s girthy tentacles couldn’t break through, did Kestrel finally stop.
She skidded to the ground, knees burning where rock tore through the fabric of her trousers. Kestrel tossed her pack down and used the soft backside as a pillow to lay the fox atop it. Its eyes were closed now. Its breathing shallow.
On more than one occasion, Kestrel had needed to tend to some of Thom’s wounds. He’d taught her how to clean and stitch skin back together. How to treat a mild burn. He’d even instructed her on how to reset a dislocated shoulder.
But that had all been done on a human body.
Kestrel was unfamiliar with the anatomy of a fox, but she supposed they likely shared similar elements. So, she ran her fingers over the fox’s unconscious body anyway, searching the shoulders, ribcage, and hips for any bones that might be out of place. It was a thin creature, its ribs protruding more than she expected, but none of them seemed to be bent at odd angles, and when she pulled her hand away, she was relieved to find no blood anywhere.
Maybe the fox just needed some rest and a meal.
Luckily, both her waterskin and a container of dried figs were easily accessible in a side pouch without disturbing the creature’s rest.
Using the place where her trousers had torn at the knee, Kestrel ripped the bottom half of her pantleg off. She dribbled some water over the fabric and began cleaning the Maw’s black blood from the fox’s chest and mouth. It was too thick and sticky to remove all of it, but she did her best to clean as muchas she could, so that it wouldn’t have to taste that vile monster upon awakening.
When she figured it was as good as it was going to get, Kestrel held the waterskin up to the fox’s lips.
Have we learned nothing today about the dangers of trusting things out in the Wilds?
Kestrel winced at Imaginary Thom’s harsh reprimand.
I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, there is nothing good out here. Not monsters. Not people. Not even animals.
It was something he told her quite often. Anytime a curious bird would flit onto their windowsill, Thom was swift to squash her innocent curiosity and excitement by shooing it away. According to him, animals could be just as nefarious as anything out here. They were built to survive and that was it. And Kestrel knew it too. She’d heard the way that some of the predators would corner a frightened rabbit and rip it to shreds while it was still alive. They weren’t doing it to be mean, they just needed to eat. To survive.
