"And anything else they can find, of course. Wild sheep, for meat. But—I don't think we'll have much trouble, at this season, Paksenarrion. The pass should not be snowed in. But if we do see one, remember that they're the most dangerous wild creature in the mountains. I don't except men—a snowcat is more dangerous than a band of brigands."

"But how? Are they—?"

"I'm telling you. The snowcat is a magical beast, like the dragon and the eryx. It lives on both sides of the world, and feeds on both sides. For meat it eats wild sheep, or horses, or men. For delight it eats souls, particularly elven and human, though I understand it takes dwarven souls often enough that the dwarves fear it."

"I thought elves didn't have souls—"

Macenion suddenly looked embarrassed. "I didn't know you knew so much about elves—"

"I don't, but that's what I heard—they don't have souls because they don't need them—they live forever anyway."

"That's not the reason—but in fact, you're right. Elves don't have souls—not full-blooded elves. But—" he gave her a rueful smile. "I don't like to admit it, Paks, but in fact I am not pure elven."

"But you said—"

"Well, I'm more elven than human—I do take after my elven ancestors much more. You yourself wouldn't call me human—"

Paks had to agree with that, but she still felt affronted. "Well, if you're not elven—"

"I am. I am—well—you could say—half-elven. Human-elven. If you must know, that's how I gained my mastery of human wizardry as well as elven magic." He drew himself up, and took on the expression she found most annoying.

"Oh." Paks left this topic, and returned to the other. "But the snowcat—can't we fight it off? We have a bow, and—"

"No. It is truly magical, Paksenarrion. It can spell your soul out of you before you could strike a blow. I am a mage and part elf; it will desire mine even more."

Paks thought about it. It seemed to her that this meant nothing more than death. She started to ask Macenion, and he turned, startled.

"No! By the First Tree, you humans know nothing, even of your own condition! It is not the same thing as being killed. When you die, your soul goes—well, I don't know your background, and I'd hate to upset your beliefs—" Paks glared at him, and he went on. "You have a soul, and it goes somewhere—depending on how you've lived. Is that plain enough? But if a snowcat eats your soul, it never gets where it should go. It's trapped there, in the snowcat, forever."

"Oh. But then—what does it want with a soul?"