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He stumbled sideways, and the ground disappeared beneath his feet.
He fell through the air, then landed with a jolt, and a burst of pain exploded in his foot. He reached out and grasped a rock jutting out from the snow, his heartbeat hammering in his head.
Clinging to the rock, he caught his breath. The edge of the path was barely visible above him in the snow. Below, the slope steepened into a vertical cliff, and his stomach heaved. He was mere feet away from plunging to his death.
Trying to think of anything other than the sheer drop below him, he reached forward and began to crawl toward the path, his ankle burning with pain at each movement.
A huge, dark shape appeared on the path above and moved toward him.
“Go away, Beastie!” he cried. “You shall not take me!”
The beast froze, then resumed its path. A hand reached out toward him with long, lean fingers, and Hamish let out a scream.
“No!”
“Be still, boy!” a voice roared. “Do you want to die?”
Hamish had never heard a voice like it—deep and rich, like the mythical creatures he’d read about at school. He squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps if he couldn’t see the Beast, it would disappear. But a hand gripped his sleeve and pulled him up.
“Are you hurt?”
Hamish swallowed his terror, opened his eyes, and his heart shuddered in his chest.
The face looking back at him was the face of the Beast. Twisted, distorted, and cracked—a face to strike fear into the stoutest heart. A red-lipped mouth parted to reveal sharp white teeth. A jagged edge, like a crack in the mountainside, bisected the flesh from the mouth to one eye.
“The Beastie…”
The mouth thinned into a hard line, and the expression in the Beast’s eyes turned from anger to sorrow—eyes which he’d thought were a fiery red, but were, in fact, a clear blue—like a summer’s sky, a flash of bright, welcoming color in the storm.
They were the kindest eyes he had ever seen.
The creature was no beast—but an angel, sent by Da to save him.
He stopped struggling, took the angel’s hand, and smiled.
