He did, but not before one last slash. He dropped, twisting and landing on all fours just as the bird took flight. It rose. Then it stopped and hovered there, bright, rain-soaked plumage shimmering as the sun pierced the clouds. Then it started to fall. Moria looked to see Gavril, still struggling to his feet, dazed. The bird was right above him, dropping fast.

“Gavril!” she shouted as she ran at him, sheathing her daggers.

He looked up and started to lunge. Moria caught him by the tunic and yanked. The thunder hawk landed, glancing off Gavril as it did, knocking them both off balance. Gavril recovered and raced to the bird, slipping and sliding on the wet rock. He raised his sword, ready to stab the beast in the breast. Then he stopped.

He stood there, rain pouring off him in sheets, the sun bright now, strangely shining through the rain, the light glinting off his sword. Moria could see him breathing hard, his green eyes seeming to glow as bright as his sword, bright with fury and determination and fear. Yes, fear. She could see that, in his face and in his stance, holding himself fast, gulping air, watching the bird, ready to strike the fatal blow. But it lay there unmoving.

Moria unsheathed her daggers as she walked over. Daigo followed her, creeping through the rain, head down, as if he could avoid getting wet.

She walked to the bird and looked down at its ruined eye and bloody throat. She kicked its beak. It fell open, but the bird didn’t move. Another kick, just to be sure, then she sheathed one dagger and turned to Gavril.

“It’s dead,” she said.

“You . . .” He looked toward the cave. “You just ran out . . . you could have been killed.”

She sheathed her other dagger. “Yes, it was foolish. Exactly what you expect, I’m sure.”

“No, not foolish. It was . . .” He seemed to search for a word, then looked down at the bird as if in shock. His gaze turned to her. “You don’t fear anything, do you, Moria?”

She gave a short laugh. “Oh, there was plenty of fear. I’m glad it’s raining, because I’m not completely sure my breeches would have been dry.”

A quirk of a smile. “A warrior isn’t supposed to admit fear.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I’m not a warrior.”

“No, you are.” He paused, meeting her gaze. “You truly are.”

She felt her cheeks heat and covered it by kneeling beside the bird. The rain was easing now, and with the sun shining, the colorful plumage glittered.

“Sadly, I can’t claim the killing blow,” she said, ducking to look at the bird’s throat. “Good work, Kitsune.”

He didn’t answer. She could sense him walking up behind her, but she kept examining the bird.