“I don’t think this is working,” Korik said. Beside him, Varen drew his bow.
“Gods, I don’t want to kill it,” the elf muttered. “They’re so rare. I’ve never even seen one before.”
The arrow was drawn, but Varen still hesitated, even as they continued to back away. Korik did not relish the thought of slaying the creature, either, though it seemed the cat was aggressive enough that they might not have a choice.
“Korik, can you try to—I don’t know—make it go away?” Varen asked. Korik frowned in bewilderment.
“No,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Get behind me and try,” Varen urged him. “Please. We can’t outrun it.”
Korik wanted to protest again, but he knew Varen was correct. If they ran, and the creature gave chase, it would catch them easily; Varen would be forced to kill it if they were to survive. If he could somehow calm the razorfang, or at least get it to go back up into the tree, maybe they could get away with all three of them unscathed.
“Fine,” he relented, already regretting it, as he positioned himself behind Varen and dropped to his knees. His hands plunged into the snow, and he tried to press his awareness outward as quickly as he could, but his own worry and fear made it difficult. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look away from the razorfang since he first saw it, but now he forced himself to close his eyes and focus.
His consciousness rushed outward, latching onto the cat. It yowled, hissing, as it became aware of him; but immediately he tried to seize control of the creature. Predators were difficult, though—the cat had an intelligence to it that resisted his efforts, far more so than horses or birds of prey, which always fought him. Its body tensed, muscles locking up as it attempted to proceed onward toward Varen. Korik saw Varen through its eyes, still watching it, bow drawn. It took one staggering step, then another.
Go home, he urged it, though he was unsure how much it might understand.Go home!
In response, he felt flashes of rage, protectiveness, a desperate hunger—they were in its territory, and it was starving.Shewas starving. Something was wrong. Game here was sparse, as they’d discovered; but if this was her territory, then surely she must have been able to feed herself in previous winters. She was frightened of them, but was hungry enough to try and hunt them.
He felt her struggling against him, instinct railing against his willpower, when something shoved against him—or her? His vision upended, his soft belly exposed as he was pushed onto his back. Claws extended, but he forced the creature to keep still. Varen appeared above him. He had pushed the razorfang onto her back, and he’d stashed his bow to draw his sword. One booted foot pressed down on the razorfang’s chest, making her choke, as Varen pressed the point of his sword to her vulnerable underside.
Panic rose in Korik’s mind. He couldn’t tell if it was his own, or the creature, perhaps both. He did not know what would happen if Varen killed the cat while he was still inhabiting it.
“Get out now, Korik,” Varen said, sounding anguished. “It’s still fighting. This is the only way. I’m sorry.”
Korik tried one last time to urge the razorfang cat to flee. Her thoughts were unintelligible, but the flashes of emotion that he could place were the same—fury, protectiveness, hunger. Maybe, with time, he might have convinced her to run far enough to no longer be threatened; but he knew that when he released his hold on her, she would only follow from a distance until their guards had dropped. Varen was right.
“I’m counting to three,” Varen said, his voice rising. His brows were furrowed, eyes wide, but the sword in his hands was perfectly steady. “One. Two.”
I’m sorry, Korik thought to the creature, though he doubted she understood.I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.
“Three.”
Something pierced him, white-hot, opening his flesh more easily than any fang. Korik recoiled, releasing his hold on her at the same instant that Varen slashed her soft underside open—burning pain exploded across his own stomach. He curled in on himself, crying out as his awareness returned. It was a phantom pain, he knew; but he couldn’t stop himself from holding his midsection tightly, as if he could somehow keep his insides together.
He was aware of the sound of the cat screaming, and Varen making a strangled noise—the sound of liquid spilling, something shuffling—he forced himself up onto his hands and knees, ignoring the cold bite of the snow and looking through the messy curtain of his hair toward Varen and the razorfang cat.
She had slashed up at Varen when he’d released his hold on her, claws piercing into his calf. He had jumped back, and she had flipped onto her feet, trying to flee. Her innards trailed behind her, and she managed only one leap before staggering and dropping back down. A streak of crimson marked her path as she bled out, blood and viscera steaming in the cold.
“I’m sorry,” Korik repeated faintly, shaking his head. It felt like such a mistake, but what more could they have done?
“Korik,” Varen panted, sitting down hard in the snow and holding his injured leg. “Are you alright?”
“Y-Yes,” Korik stammered, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I’ll help.”
He shuffled through the snow toward Varen, placing his hand on the elf’s wounded leg. His magic came to him without thought, entirely second nature. The wounds were deep punctures, so he forced himself to focus and knit the flesh back together more carefully to avoid trapping infection within again.
“Are you alright?” Varen asked again. His voice still sounded strained, but was tinged with concern now. “I wasn’t sure if it would hurt you, if I... I’m sorry.”
Korik shook his head. “It’s fine.”
For a moment, Varen was silent, then he asked tentatively, “Didyou feel it?”
At that, Korik hesitated. Something in him desperately did not want to talk about it—wanted to just focus on healing, and nothing else. His powers weren’t for elves to know.
But he cared about Varen. He wanted Varen to care about him, and maybe this was his way of showing concern.
