Holt Nabb wanted to catch the Viper, the worst beast in the swamp, and today the swamp wanted to catch him. He crouched in the reeds, sling in one fist, a smooth river stone in the other. The deep bog lay just past the north bridge. That bog held the Viper's lair. And between Holt and the bridge stood the giant, hunting him. Three days ago Holt had put a stone right between the giant's eyes. He had only meant to scare it off the bridge. Now the giant carried a fresh dent in its skull and a grudge to match. Every path to the deep bog crossed its watch. A skinny trapper could not become the swamp's greatest without reaching the beast. So Holt had to get past the giant, or give up his one dream. He watched from the mud. The giant swept the reeds with a snapped tree trunk. Each swing flattened a patch wider than Holt's whole body. It knew he was near. It sniffed the wet air and turned in slow circles. Holt could not win by hitting it again. The dent had made this mess. He needed the giant to leave the bridge on its own. He crawled to the base of his tree house, the snug wooden home he had built high on the trunk. A rope ladder hung from the balcony. Holt loaded his sling, then whipped a stone against the tree far to his left. It cracked against the bark. The giant charged the sound. While it stomped left, Holt scrambled up the ladder. From the balcony he had a clean view. He flung stone after stone, each one landing further from the bridge. The giant chased every crack, drawn deeper into the reeds, away from the water. Then Holt hurled his last stone hard at a rotten stump near a mudhole. The giant lunged for it and its foot punched through the soft ground. It sank to the knee, then the waist. It bellowed and thrashed, but the bog held it fast. Holt climbed down and ran. He did not stop until his boots hit the planks of the north bridge. Behind him the giant roared and clawed at the mud, stuck and furious. Ahead of him the deep bog opened, black and still. He had cleared the guard. The path to the Viper's lair lay open at last. Holt stepped off the bridge onto the soft edge of the deep bog. The water near his boots stirred. Something long moved beneath the surface, sliding toward the reeds where he stood. He had wanted to find the Viper. He had not planned to find it first.