Amarok Stridemane had hunted three nights for a grove no one could point to. He was wolf and tiger and horse and sheep stitched into one body, and he hated the four voices that body held. The grove unmade creatures like him. It let a hybrid pick one true shape and keep it. He wanted that more than he wanted the stolen herd he once chased into this country. But every elder spoke of the grove in whispers, and no two whispers agreed. So he wandered, sniffing deer trails and dead leaves, guessing. By dusk he smelled woodsmoke. He followed it to a squat dwelling shaped like a round-bellied beast, with alert ears on its roof and fluffy walls curling like wool. A lamp burned behind one small window. Amarok's four hearts pulled four ways, but hunger and tiredness agreed on the door. He knocked. It opened. A lynx stood there, short and spotted, in a worn green coat and leather gloves. She held a knife low, not raised, just ready. Her yellow eyes measured him the way he measured tracks. "Four animals in one skin," she said. "You're the one asking about the grove. The whole wood's been talking." "Kira Thornpaw." He had heard the name from a trapper. "They said you crossed this country before anyone mapped it." "I did. Come in before you fall down." She stepped back. The knife vanished into her belt. Inside, she pushed a bowl of broth at him and watched him drink. He told her everything. The grove. The single true form he wanted. The three wasted nights. Kira set a chipped cup on the floor between them. "Here's your mistake." She dipped a claw in broth and drew a crooked line on the boards. "You've been climbing toward the whispers. The grove sits low. It's in the deep undergrowth, where the ground sinks and the water pools. Everyone who went up came back empty. The ones who went down didn't always come back at all." Amarok leaned over the wet line. "You know the way." "I know the mouth of it." She traced a fork, then a long slope downward. "Follow the sinking stream past the split rock. When the trees start weeping sap, you're close. I won't take you further than the split rock. That's where I turned around last time." He memorized the line until the broth dried. For the first time in three nights, he knew which direction was true. He was not wandering anymore. Kira watched his face change and did not smile. "You should know the ones who go down change before the grove ever touches them," she said. "The undergrowth down there has its own teeth. I came back lighter than I went in. Something took part of me and never gave it back." Amarok stood. He had a direction now, and a warning sharper than the cold outside.