She didn’t regret it for a moment, she just knew it wasn’t wise. Orfeus breathed in, then out, and staggered away. She could walk on her own, just. Faol dropped her arm and let the space between them stand.

Strange to stride side by side like they were allies. Orfeus glanced at Faol and nearly flinched. Through the mask, Faol’s brown eyes burned hot as coals as they dug into her, fixed on Orfeus like a nail through a moth. Orfeus let out a breath.

“I’m getting the feeling you’re displeased.” She could manage understatement just this once. “Your odd idea of honour probably means I’m not going to wake up with your claws in my back, yes?” she said. She shrugged her shoulders restlessly, the itch between them that was becoming familiar. “I mean, again.”

Enough corridor passed that she began to fear she’d misread the situation. “Right?” Orfeus said in sudden concern. “If you want to kill me, propose single combat. I rather like having at least one foe I know will fight me fair and square instead of sneaking up behind me.”

Faol shook her head short and sharp. She stopped in front of the entrance. “I was only thinking that was the first good thing I’ve seen you do,” she said.

“Oh.” What to say, thank you, how dare you? Maybe learn from Faol’s example, and say nothing.

They entered the broad open room from which Luga held court. The Boarhound stood in one corner, leaning against a wall with ver thick arms crossed instead of sitting sprawled with a tankard, and a few others stood quiet in corners: not Wasp or Ocelot, but the Otter and the Shark and the Hyena, silent, like they were witnessing something. Hopefully not her execution.

She would join their number soon, join those silent ranks. What snarling beast should she choose to hide her face behind?

Luga sat unchanging, his face smeared with black, fingertips withering, atop his metal throne, like the prince of the underworld, ringed with red-eared hounds. “Enter then,” he called. His voice wasn’t pitched loud, but it carried. Orfeus nodded in appreciation of good projection.

She stepped forward, clasping her hands in front of her, lowering her head respectfully.

“You have passed the Trial of Fangs,” Luga said. His voice had a ritualistic tone, rolling, intoning. His eyes mostly looked bored. There didn’t seem to be many hunters here, but then, no doubt they died young. He added, “Good teamwork, but your combat needs improvement.”

Orfeus blinked up at him. “Why, thank you, sir,” she said. “I must say that teamwork is not normally what people praise me for.”

“Kneel,” Luga said. Not much patience for chatter, then.