Rex Shellborn stood where the swamp used to breathe. Yesterday this mud sucked at his feet. Today it cracked like old pottery. Human machines had dug trenches at the swamp's edge, and the water drained away through them. Rex was a turtle. The swamp was his home, and someday he meant to rule it. But a king cannot rule dry dust. He pressed his webbed palm to the ground. No moisture. The reeds had gone brown overnight. In the distance, iron pipes pumped the last black water out of Turtlemire. Rex clenched his fists. He had always solved his problems this way. See the thing hurting you. Hit it until it stops. He marched toward the nearest pump and swung. His knuckles split against the metal. The machine did not even dent. "You'll break your hands before you break those," a voice said. Rex spun. A salamander crouched on a dry root, orange skin caked with mud. Blades were strapped to his long tail, and he flicked them lazily against a rock. This was Draxx Mudriver. Rex had heard the name once, whispered by frightened frogs. The salamander who knew every weak point in a human machine. "The swamp's mine to protect," Rex said. "I don't need help." Draxx laughed. He hopped down and pressed one tail blade against a pipe joint. "Fists are stupid against steel. But steel has seams." He tapped the bolted ring where two pipes met. "Hit here, not there." Rex didn't like being taught. His jaw tightened. But the water kept draining, and his split knuckles throbbed. He looked at the joint. Then he looked at the dust spreading toward the swamp's heart, toward the home his family had lost. "Show me," Rex said. Draxx grinned and sliced the bolt loose. Rex grabbed the loosened joint with both hands. He braced his feet and pulled. His shoulders burned. The metal groaned, then tore free. Black water burst out and splashed across the cracked ground. The pump choked and died. One machine down. But the water didn't flow back into the swamp. It poured the wrong way, down into the human trenches, carving them deeper. Rex watched the flood rush away from Turtlemire, not toward it. "I stopped the pump," Rex said slowly. "You stopped one," Draxx said. He pointed with his tail. Far off, a dozen more pumps churned on, untouched. "And you just showed them which machine broke first. They'll come to fix it." As if answering, a horn blew across the drained flats. Human shapes moved toward the dead pump. More than Rex could count. Rex flexed his bleeding hands. One machine had taught him his fists weren't enough. Now a crowd of humans was marching to the very spot where he stood. "All right," Rex said. "Where do we hit them next?" Draxx was already running.