Anavha tried scooping up some snow. The snow felt good as it melted in his mouth. He sat quietly.

“You say your wife will come after you?” the man said. He was looking at Anavha as he ate.

Anavha nodded.

“I don’t doubt it,” the man said. He had a strange accent, one Anavha could not identify, but he figured it must be Tordinian, since he looked so much like one. He continued to gaze at Anavha. Uncomfortable under the close scrutiny, Anavha looked away.

“We’re two weeks from Tordin,” the man said. “Someone else will decide what to do with you once we cross the border.”

“I won’t say anything,” Anavha said softly. He had seen this man kill a woman. It was like sitting with some sort of dangerous animal. But then, Anavha had also killed a woman. Did that make him like this man? Anavha hugged his knees to his chest. He was terribly cold. We’re just animals, he thought. The enforcers will find us. Zezili will cut both of us open.

“It’s not a matter of what you will or won’t say,” the man said.

“Who are you?” Anavha asked.

The man smiled, but it was a tight, forced smile that did not touch his eyes. “They’ll know me as Natanial Thorne of Yemsire.”

Tordinian after all, then. And he had killed a woman in an inn in Dorinah.

“You work for the King of Tordin,” Anavha said.

“I work for a lot of people,” Natanial said, “but yes, he’s the one who’ll decide whether or not you’re useful.”

“Zezili will come for me,” Anavha repeated with conviction. Zezili would always come for him.

Natanial wiped his hands on his trousers. “I certainly hope so,” he said. “You’re worth a nice penny, I’d wager. Get some sleep now. We have a long day ahead.”

Anavha lay on his side, hands bound. He didn’t think he could sleep, but it came eventually. He started awake not long after and froze. Something stared at him from across the remains of the fire. A creature moved in the undergrowth. He heard the huff of its breath, and saw its eyes reflecting the moons’ light.

“Natanial?” Anavha whispered. But he could not see Natanial. He began to tremble.

The beast crept into the moons’ light. It was a giant, mangy wolverine, wild and slavering. Anavha had only seen the things in the papers, drawn up to accompany a story about some horrific mauling. Anavha tried to sit up.

The wolverine growled and pounced.

Anavha shrieked. He rolled just in time, so the beast latched onto his arm instead of his neck. Jagged needles of pain burst through his arm. A blood-red haze cloaked Anavha’s vision.

The undergrowth shivered again. Anavha screamed. Natanial leapt toward him, metal sword raised, as the wolverine shook Anavha like a straw pillow.