Paks tried to concentrate. She wished she could see the snowcat better. Macenion turned to rummage among his things. She was afraid to look sideways at him, lest the cat jump. She forced her eyes back to the shadowy cat-form. Suddenly light flared around her, and she jumped.

"Don't look," said Macenion harshly. The light was clear and white, brilliant enough to show true colors. Now she could see the snowcat clearly. Its body was man-long; its shoulder would almost reach her waist. As Macenion had said, its fur was white and blue-gray, patterned with dapples that reminded Paks of snowflakes enlarged. The ears bore long tufts of white, and it had a white beard and short ruff. The eyes, despite the blue glow they'd had before, shone amber in Macenion's spell-light.

"Macenion, it's beautiful. It's the most beautiful—"

"It's spelling you," he said firmly. "It seems beautiful because it's trying to use magic on you."

"But it can't be. It's—" She stopped as Macenion came forward into her field of view. "Macenion, what are you doing?"

"Don't be silly, Paks. I'm going to kill it."

"Kill it? But it's helpless—it can't move while I—"

"That's right. Just keep holding it still. It's the only way I have a chance—"

"But that's not fair—it's helpless—" Paks let her concentration waver, and at once the snowcat moved, shifting in a kind of constricted hop, as she caught her control back. She was distracted again by this evidence of her power and its limitations, and the cat managed to rear, swiping at Macenion's head with one massive paw. He ducked, and Paks forced the cat to stillness again.

"Damn you, human! Hold that beast, or we're both dead. Worse than dead—you remember what I told you!" Macenion glared back at her, then turned, raising his sword.

Paks felt a wave of fear and pain sweep through her mind. It was wrong, terribly wrong—but what else could she do? "Macenion—" she tried again, staring into the snowcat's huge amber eyes. "It's not right—"

"It's not right for us to end up soul-bound to a snowcat, no," he said roughly. "It's easy enough, though, if you forget yourself one more time. If that's what you want, go ahead."

Paks looked down, biting her lip. She could not watch, and then she thought she must. The snowcat made no resistance—could make no resistance—but it could cry out, in fury and pain, and so it did. That wailing cry, ending in an almost birdlike whistle, brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them back, and watched stonily as Macenion wiped his sword on the dead snowcat's fur. He came back to the fire almost jauntily.

"A snowcat. That's quite a kill, even if you don't think it was fair. I'll just take the pelt before it freezes—"

"No." Paks glared at him.