Please, not now. Not when I’m so close. She pulled out the dagger and crept on, her eyes searching the hundred darknesses pressing in between the trees. Weak lightning flickered—illuminating, for a second, a shiny shape, long and sinuous. Perhaps a large and ancient tree root glistening with rain … but no. In the blink of an eye, the shape slithered off into the forest.

Perhaps it had bigger prey tonight.

She gulped and hurried on, gripping the knife so tightly that her knuckles stung. If it attacked her, she’d bloody kill it—she had to. She wasn’t going to let anything stop her now.

A few minutes later, Lena saw the path trail off, the light disappearing as it reached a wide field.

She was so close. She allowed herself to relax a little, lowering the dagger.

There was no noise, no warning: out of nowhere, she felt a sharp, burning pain in her thigh. She cried out, stabbed blindly down with the knife. The serpent darted back, too quick for her, and drew itself up—nearly to Lena’s height—hissing, blocking her way. It was huge. Its body coiled on the path and its open mouth revealed large white fangs. In the purplish path-light, its dark scales shone silvery blue and its eyes were flecks of glistening black stone.

With one hand she clutched her leg, which was throbbing, and with the other she held the knife out in front of her. Her pulse was thundering and she gritted her teeth against the pain and odd sense of lightness, disorientation. No. I will not die like this. Not here. Not now. Determination hardened Lena’s heart, and she was no longer afraid.

She slashed out again, but the snake was a narrow target, easily darting out of reach. She felt a sudden weakness in her leg, which buckled. She was down on one knee. The snake appeared to notice her struggle, twisting itself into a looser, lower coil and watching.

Waiting. Waiting for me to die, she realized.

She threw the dagger, which whistled through the air, and forced herself to her feet, running off to the side as fast as her injury could carry her. Her boots pounded the dead leaves at a limping sprint. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, like a heartbeat.

It didn’t last long.

She tripped, fell flat on her face—the second time that night she’d had her mouth full of dead leaves and damp soil. She spat, turned on her back, tried to scrabble to her feet. But it was too painful—and the more she struggled, the more she felt the poison racing through her blood, draining her of strength, wrapping invisible fingers around her throat. She gasped for breath, desperate for the tiniest sliver of air. But the world was watery, choking darkness, and she felt certain she was drowning.