Thorn crouched at the ridge above his cave, counting breaths in the cold. Midwinter had pushed everything living closer to his mountain, and that was the problem. He had built this hidden home to be left alone. The creatures inside the rock kept it that way, fed on quiet and meat and his refusal to ask questions. Below, a bunny-kin girl had strung a pale cloth between two low branches near the cave mouth. A small iron pan sat on her fire, salmon hissing in melted fat. Her long ears twitched at every sound she could not name. Thorn saw the signs before she did. Pawprints pressed deep in the snow, ringing her camp in a slow circle. Steam curled from a crack in the stone where something warm had just passed through. The creatures were already deciding. Then he heard the dogs. Far down the slope, men were calling her name in voices sharp with hunting. The girl froze over her pan, ears flat, eyes wet. She whispered that they would kill her if they found her. Thorn swore under his breath. He kicked snow over her fire, grabbed her pack, and pulled her past the cloth and into the dark of the cave. Behind them, something heavy shifted in the rocks and went still. He had just brought a person inside. He did not yet know what that would cost.

Thorn pressed the girl against the cold wall of the cave and listened. Outside, the dogs had been barking. Now they were not. The silence was worse than the noise. He crept back to the entrance and looked down the slope. The hunting party stood frozen at a low rise of broken stone, a weathered wall half-buried in snow. Fresh red streaked the gray bricks. Deep gouges scored the rock above the men's heads. None of them stepped past it. They stared at the marks like the marks were staring back. One man turned and ran. The others followed, slipping in the snow. A rolled parchment tied with a red ribbon dropped from someone's belt and lay forgotten in the trampled tracks. Thorn watched until the last coat disappeared into the trees below. He let out the breath he had been holding. Then a small shape padded out of the dark behind him. A furry white creature with six stubby legs and folded wings sat in the snow at the cave mouth. Purple eyes blinked up at him. It dropped something at his boots: a chewed leather shoe, laces frayed, the toe punched through from the inside. Thorn stared at the shoe. He stared at the small wyvern. He had told them to leave the hunters alone until the hunters crossed the line. The line had been crossed, and something had been done about it. He did not ask what. He picked up the shoe, carried it inside, and shut the girl deeper into the dark. The men were gone today. Tomorrow, someone would come looking for them.