Page 37 of The Weaver

The other creature before him recovered and lunged again—not for Rekosh, but for Ahmya. He braced his hand on her backside, lifting her higher. She made a startled sound and planted her palms on his shoulder to stabilize herself. Thekuzahk’s jaws clacked shut on empty air barely a finger’s breadth from Ahmya.

Rekosh reared back and slammed his forelegs down on the beast. Its claws raked at him as he stomped again and again, mangling flesh and bone.

Ahmya washis. Nothing could have her. Nothing would harm her.

Another beast lunged from the side, the arc of its leap carrying it straight for Ahmya. Rekosh hammered an arm into the creature’s side and heaved. The kuzahk‘s claws opened fresh wounds on his hide before it was flung into the air. It twisted and kicked but could not catch itself before falling over the edge of the ravine.

“Every time,” Rekosh growled in vrix. “Every time we speak, something gets in the way. Something stops us.”

He hissed and staggered forward when something heavy landed on his hindquarters. Hooked claws snagged his hide, latching the kuzahk on. Its hind legs scrabbled for purchase as it dragged itself up. Rekosh snarled.

“No!” Ahmya cried.

More of the beasts rushed in from the sides, swiping claws and biting at Rekosh’s legs. He kicked and swung at them reflexively. All his thoughts, all his focus, went into keeping Ahmya out of their reach. But some part of his mind understood that he was moving dangerously closer to the edge.

The kuzahk on his hindquarters leapt higher, its claws sinking into his shoulder. Ahmya let out a cry and thrust herself away from the creature. Rekosh stumbled forward, desperately clutching at her as the beast’s jaws gnashed beside his head.

He hooked an arm up around its neck, squeezing its throat down on his shoulder. The kuzahk dug its hind claws into his lower back, pushing against his hold. Rekosh spread his mandibles wide, and a deep, pained growl tore out of him.

Those claws were just below his bag. Just below his gift. Hismuscles bulged, increasing the pressure on the beast’s throat, but its wet fur was allowing it to slip away.

Ahmya’s face was pale, her eyes wide and full of fear, but her hand was steady as she tugged a blackrock knife free from his sash. With a growl of her own—and those flat human teeth bared—she raised the knife over her shoulder and slammed it down into the kuzahk’s skull.

The creature twitched, briefly forcing its claws deeper, before it went limp.

Rekosh met Ahmya’s gaze. Though her eyes remained fearful, there was something solid at their core, something unwavering.

My little flower…

He drew her close to his chest again. She wrapped herself around him, burying her face against his neck. Rekosh roared and hurled the dead beast over his shoulder, knocking back several of its pack.

Using the space he’d created, he swung his spear in a wide arc, forcing the creatures back farther as they avoided the bite of the bloody stone head.

His chest heaved with his strained breaths, and dull pain pulsed across his hide from his wounds, each of which radiated its own warmth.

There were at least five of the creatures still standing, many of them wounded—and most with Rekosh’s blood glistening on their mouths and claws. They’d tasted blood now. They weren’t likely to abandon their hunt, even after the losses suffered by their pack.

The kuzahks bunched their shoulders, bared their fangs, and crept forward.

Rekosh slid his hind legs back, seeking to maintain the distance between himself and the beasts. One leg slipped past the edge of the ridge. The other sank into ground softened by rain, skewing his balance.

A kuzahk darted forward.

Widening his stance, Rekosh met the beast with a thrust of his spear. The weapon plunged into the creature’s throat.

Lightning arced across the gap in the trees overhead. Thunder shook the ground before the light had even faded.

Ahmya made a sound that Rekosh only felt as a faint vibration against his hide. Heat radiated from her skin, in stark contrast to the rain’s chill.

The beast struggled at the end of Rekosh’s spear, pawing at the ground to get closer. He shoved it down with a foreleg.

The world quaked, and the earth beneath his rear legs crumbled.

His insides lurched. He pushed off with his middle legs, but they found no purchase on the collapsing ground.

“No,” he rasped. “No, no, no!” Releasing the spear, he clawed at the dirt and stone before him with his free hands and forelegs. He was falling.

Theywere falling.

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