Elara Gentleheart limped to her camp shelter at the edge of the dark spring, where the water glowed faint gold beneath the trees. Two cracked ribs reminded her not to rush. The Shadowmane lived past that water, and she meant to earn its trust, no matter how long it took. She settled onto her mat and watched the glow ripple. Sitting still had worked with three other beasts no one could touch. But sitting still was not enough now. The Shadowmane could smell her from far off, and every morning it stayed hidden. She needed to offer something it actually wanted. Elara remembered an old hunter's words about a sparkling drink the beasts craved. She uncorked a small bottle she had traded for and poured a thin line into the moss. Beside it she laid a bright apple and a sprig of sweet leaves from a twisted branch. She stepped back to her mat. Brush cracked. Two ember eyes lit the far bank. The Shadowmane lowered its great black head and drank. It did not flee. For the first time, it had taken something from her hand.