Zikka Scaletail knelt beside the pool where the fen-beast last fed. Blood still stained the reeds. Two hunters had gone in at dawn. Neither came out. She counted the missing on her claws and stopped at seven. Seven since the last moon. Her tribe would soon have no hunters left, and she meant to end the beast herself. She lifted her spear from the mud and pressed the point against a stone. The steel head bent. It sprang back with a thin, insulting whine. This weapon dropped marsh-hens and river fish. She had seen the beast rise once. It swallowed a warrior whole, spear and all, and the spear snapped like a dry twig in its throat. Her tool would only feed it. Zikka needed better steel. She knew one place that made it. The blacksmith's mud hut sat low and dark, its chimney breathing smoke. Inside, orange light washed the walls. Niru Emberscale worked the coals without looking up. He was her tribe's only smith, and the last time she came, he had turned her away. He hammered a glowing bar, quick and sure, his scaled arms slick with sweat. "Your fish-sticker again," Niru said. "I told you. I don't waste iron on the dead." Zikka laid the spear across his anvil. "Seven hunters now. Look at the point." He stopped hammering. He picked up the spear and flexed the head between two fingers. It bent, as it always did. His yellow eyes narrowed. "This bends because it must," he said. "Thin steel for throwing. You want a shaft that won't fold when the beast bites down. That's a different weapon." He set it down. "I have ironwood. One length. I've been saving it." "Then use it." "For what? So the fen eats my best wood with you inside it?" Niru turned back to his coals. "No." Zikka grabbed his wrist. Her grip surprised them both. "My mother went in three moons ago. I heard her scream and I ran the wrong way. I will not run again." She let go. "Reforge it, or I go in with the fish-sticker and you bury nothing." Niru stared at her a long moment. Then he spat on the coals and reached for the ironwood. He worked past dark. He heated the old steel head white, folded it, and beat it thick and broad. He fixed it to the ironwood shaft and bound the joint with wet leather that dried tight as bone. When he handed it over, the weight pulled Zikka's arm down. This spear would not bend. It would not snap. "It's heavy," she said. "Beast-slaying is heavy." Niru wiped his hands. "You can't throw it now. You'll have to stand your ground and drive it in close." Zikka's stomach tightened. To kill the beast, she would have to let it come within reach of her.