Aldric Valorheart had hunted the beast for three winters, but tonight he did not know where it slept. He crouched at the edge of the woods and studied the creature's old kills. Split ribs. Cracked skulls. Bones he meant to reforge into new axes, the pair he lost the night the beast drove him into hiding. But he could not forge from bones he could not find. And a blind hunt would put his own bones in the beast's teeth. He pulled his hood lower and moved toward the light of the village hall. Its timber walls glowed with lantern fire. Voices spilled from inside, warm and easy. Aldric did not go in. He had learned that men grew quiet when they saw the two axes on his back, the small bones swinging from their hafts. So he waited by the door and listened. Inside, a hunter spoke of a great striped cat. He said it had a long thick coat and fangs like curved knives. He said it had killed his dogs near the old blossom tree, the strange one heavy with fruit and light. Aldric's hands went still. He knew that cat. It was no cat at all. The beast wore many shapes, and the striped hide was one of them. He slipped away before the hunter finished. The blossom tree stood alone, its branches bright even in the dark. Fruit glowed among the leaves like small lamps. Aldric circled it wide and low, reading the ground. Broad paw prints pressed the soil. Long orange hairs clung to the bark. A trail of them led into a slope of black rock behind the tree. He followed the hairs to a gap in the stone. The smell hit him first, thick and sour, the smell of a den. He crouched at the opening and counted the tracks. All led in. None led out. The beast was home, and it was sleeping. Aldric drew one axe. Then he stopped himself. He had come for the den, not the kill. Tonight he only needed to know. He pressed a hand to the cold rock and marked the place in his mind. Tomorrow he would return with a plan, not with luck. He backed away from the gap without a sound. Behind him, the rock shifted. A low growl rolled out of the dark. Two eyes opened in the den, gold and wide, and they were fixed on him. The beast was not sleeping anymore. It knew his scent now, and it knew his face. Aldric turned and ran for the trees. He had found the den at last. But he had lost the one thing that had kept him alive for three winters. The beast no longer wondered where the hunter hid. It was already rising to come and find him.