When we met at the gate the morning of the first scouting excursion, I was surprised to see both Ransom and Magpie waiting for me, as well as a small cadrie of others I didn't know.  They all looked to be soldiers from the Amurescan force.  But it was the rat who caught my attention first.
	I heightened my pace to a jog, the humid air moving sluggishly through my lungs.  It seemed like it never rained here.  The water was just, somehow, stuck in the air.  Clouds threatened every day, but according to the locals, during this season, the 'dry season', they all dumped their reservoirs on the other side of the mountains.  Things just got progressively drier on this side, the marshy areas of the woods slowly drained, vegetation died off, and game began to get more scarce.  
	But the humidity certainly hadn't gone away.  I'd thought I would get used to it, but after nearly a month here, I was mostly just fed up with it.  It was like I was slowly drowning.
	“Magpie!” I said, huffing as I made it over to my two friends.  The men were passing a cigarette back and forth.  The rat tipped his head at me when I approached, and handed it back to Ransom.  
	“Don't exhaust yourself just yet,” he said with a toothy smile.  “Gonna be out in the field for awhile.”
	“What are you doing here?”  I asked, confused.  “I thought you turned down the offer.”
	“Yeah, well,” the rat spat on the ground.  “I didn't think you'd be fool enough to accept.  But, here we are.”
	“Please don't do this if you're opposed-” I began.
	“Shivah,” the rat said, seriously, looking me in the eyes.  “I ain't gonna let you two do this alone, alright?  We've come through a lot together.  You were there for me through some bad decisions.  I'm hopin' this doesn't turn out to be another, but. . . if it does. . . I'm your brother-in-arms.  We deal with it together.  Alright?”
	I smiled.  The rat had never been much of a talker, not open in the way Ransom or Puck were, but when he did, it was to say something important.  And I got the impression he always said exactly what he meant.  
	“Eyes up!”  A strong, authorative voice snapped from somewhere near the gate.  I turned, as did most of the other men, albeit in a sharper, more orderly fashion.  The man who'd addressed us all was none other than the wolfhound. . . that's what I'd heard him called a few times now, which seemed to fit, he had the appearance of a dog, but the bearing of a wolf. . . who was overseeing this mission.  The tall, wiry-furred man was not wearing the blue coat I'd come to associate with him now, but he was armed and armored.  He had on leathers like most of us, and he and many of the other Amurescan men here had long brown coats with hoods, which looked like they'd seen a lot of travel.  The cloth they were made from was strangely mottled, with threads of dark green and yellows woven in, likely to fit in with the vegetation here.  I'd never seen garb like it, so it must have been specially made by their forces here for this particular group.
	He and most of the men here were also armed with crossbows, and hand weapons.  Johannes seemed to be the only one amongst them with such a long blade, though.  A sword, although not like the ones Grayson kept.  It was broader, heavier.
	“You've all been briefed,” the man said, his eyes sifting through the small group.  “So I'll keep this short.  We'll be traveling in our usual pattern.  The advance group will be led by me, and I'll be assigning the few in that party at the start of each excursion.  The rest of you will take up right and left flanks. . . right will be in charge of cartography and marking, left will have your eyes on the sky, and will investigate possible burrows.  It's the dry season, so most of the Basilisks will be upstream, but all the same, we'll be avoiding the river as much as possible.”
	A noticeably uncomfortable air settled over the men, at that.  I saw several of the soldiers shifting on their feet.  It probably would have meant more to me if I knew what he was talking about, of course.  I'd heard the term 'Basilisk' passed around amongst the men, and some had attempted to describe them to me, but I'd thusfar only ever seen the Drakes and the Wyrms, not the two large bipedal Cathazra species remaining.  The 'dragons', as they were called, were apparently the most intelligent and usually in most of the positions of leadership, and I'd not even seen one of them, yet.
	Johannes continued on, but at that point Magpie's low murmur caught my attention.
	“Be wary o'that one,” he warned me.  “Keep yer eyes on 'im.”
	“I keep hearing that,” I sighed.  “I don't trust anyone in this place, Magpie.  I figured you knew that by now.”  
	He nodded.  “Good instinct.”
	“What's'at now?”  Ransom muttered  out of the side of his mouth, glancing our way surreptitiously.
	“Grayson says he's some kind of. . . assassin, or something,” I whispered.  “From some secret society?”
	“For once, the wolf ain't spoutin' bunk,” the rat said.  “They ain't all assassins exactly, though. . . more. . . agents for the nobility, and the church.”
	“What the hell does that even mean?”  the coyote muttered, annoyed.
	“Could mean a lotta things,” the rat shrugged.  “Some of 'em's just glorified bodyguards, like. . . battle priests.  'Cept they do some shady shit.  The shit the nobles don't want to dig their paws into, y'know?”
	“This doesn't feel 'shady', exactly,” I said, looking around at the men.  “Just. . . important, but not something the public should know.  Did he tell you about how people were-”
	“Sellin' out their own?  Yeah,” the rat nodded.  “Once I agreed t'talk to him.  He don't seem that bad.  Might even be on the level.  Jes' keep in mind, sweetheart,” he looked to me. “The Knights are what the Carvecian government based their Secret Operatives on.  They use a lot of the same techniques.  Hell, there're probably some Knights working with them.”
	My eyes widened.  “You mean like. . . .”
	He nodded.  “Connall.  Yeah.  That whole plot, with him'n the otter, and that vixen. . . that was theirs.  That's what organizations like this do.  It's all acceptable risk, and acceptable loss.   Do whatever necessary to accomplish their goals.  So just stay sharp, a'ight?”
	I swallowed, and swept my eyes forward again, as the tall canine finished speaking to his men.  There were salutes all around, and then the enormous gates began their monstrous, slow yawn as they were opened to the steaming jungle beyond.  My eyes inadvertently, and perhaps by habit, moved skyward as the forest loomed ahead.  No drakes, for now.  But I was learning to fear them just as much as everyone else in this place.  I was so caught up in the moment, I nearly didn't notice the tall canine who'd made his way to me, until he was standing right beside me.
	When he said my name, I nearly jumped out of my skin.  So much so that it seemed to shock even him.
	He glanced down at me apologetically as I turned, putting one of my hands to the back of my neck, awkwardly.  “Apologies,” he murmured, “I hadn't meant to frighten- I thought you would have heard me approaching-”
	“It's fine,” I said, letting out a breath, and forcing a smile.  “You are. . . very quiet, for a man your size.”
	“Force of habit,” the wolfhound muttered, then cleared his throat.  “Miss Shivah, yes?”
	I nodded.  “But 'Shivah' is just fine, sir.”
	“I don't- it seems more proper to-”
	“It's fine,” I said with a good-natured huff.  I was more amused by the stuffy formality of the Amurescans at this point than anything else.  'Assassin' or no, this man seemed just as hung up on it as the rest of them.
	“Right, then,” the wolfhound nodded.  “You'll be with my unit.  If that's acceptable to you?”
	I paused.  Magpie and Ransom were already being corralled by one of the men in charge for the left flank unit, and I'd just automatically assumed I'd be with them.  I glanced their way, and the wolfhound followed my gaze.
	“We'll all be close,” he assured me.  “But I've heard from the men on the watch that you're both an excellent shot, good at spotting drakes, and Grayson assures me you're quite the climber, as well.  We lost our last feline scout two missions ago, and I badly need a good pair of eyes on the sky in the forward unit.  Do you think you can handle it?”
	I tensed my jaw, uncertain if I wanted to go against an order just to be closer to my friends.  But in the end, it wasn't a very difficult decision.  I wasn't the sort of person who put my personal agendas over the safety and protection of an innocent population.  I'd dealt with people like that, and I was determined not to become one.  
	This mission felt important, and for some reason, despite everyone's warnings, I trusted the man in charge.  I can't even exactly say why, it was just an instinct.  I didn't feel that he'd lied to me yet, and he didn't strike me as the sort of person who did.
	Of course, I could have been wrong.
	I turned, and nodded crisply.  “Yes, sir,” I said.  “I'll do my best.”

	The following week was full of excursions into the foreign jungle.  Into enemy terrain, and a world of dangerous, more natural threats I wasn't accustomed to.  
	Serpents as thin as an arrow shaft, but more dangerous than a Dyre, were amongst some of the more common threats.  One of the men in the forward unit pointed them out as we went, and we frequently had to check branches for the small vipers whenever I was sent up into the trees.  For the most part, they kept to themselves and wanted as little to do with me as I did with them, but some of them were the same color as the leaves, and I very nearly stepped on one once.
	There were ants and other insects that lived in the trees, as well, that could be outright deadly if they bit the wrong person.  The ants, in particular, were a recurring issue.  I'd been bitten by one on one of the first expeditions, and had spent an hour in agony.  My only consolation was that I was not the only one.  And I actually weathered it better than the three other men who became victims to the small creatures.  I'd had to see Puck that night, to have the small bite inspected.  Apparently, some people had lost limbs to an infection that could follow the ant bites.  It was horrifying to think such a tiny creature could do so much damage to us.  And most of the time, we couldn't even see them.  We just had to know what sorts of areas they preferred to nest in, and avoid them.
	In some of the areas where the marshes had receded, the ground became a tacky, muddy soup of dead vegetation and sticky earth, which I'd been told could swallow a man whole if he weren't vigilant.  Thankfully, some of the men on our expedition were veterans of the terrain, and seemed to always know what areas to avoid.  Johannes in particular was always mindful, and kept on the men to wash and clean their feet as often as we possibly could.  The earth wasn't just dangerous if one sunk into it, it was dangerous to leave caked in your fur, and between your paw pads.  Some of the veterans bore the scars of previous infections and untreated insect bites, in the form of missing toes.  I scrubbed at my feet feverishly whenever we had a chance to rest, determined not to suffer the same affliction.  I needed all my toes for balance.
	And then there were the natives, and their traps.  I'd spotted several drakes and whistled the warning for our men throughout our excursions, and we'd always managed to get to cover and avoid being spotted. . . but that hadn't protected us from the ground-based guerillas.  The 'Wyrms', the same creatures who'd shot us up with poison when we'd first entered the city, were everywhere.   They never moved in large groups and we'd rarely actually seen them, but we found their traces constantly, and more than once had walked into an ambush.  I'd managed to take down one of the creatures from a perch over them, but the other two had escaped, and one of our men had been shot, forcing us to retreat back to the city for a day.
	But they didn't even need to be present to cause us trouble.  Their traps were spread sporadically throughout the forest.  There was probably a logic to how they placed them, but Johannes and the others had apparently been trying to track their patterns for years to no avail.  We had a map with likely trapped areas, but they were always creating new ones.  We dismantled or filled in any we found, but the fresh ones we found were always an unwelcome surprise.  They were especially fond of pitfalls with pungi sticks, a sort of covered pit with sharpened bamboo inside, the sharp ends smeared with poisons, mud and what smelled like the creatures' own waste.  A man impaled on the sticks, even if the injury wasn't critical, would quickly succumb to an infection.
	We'd been very careful to avoid those, but we'd still had a lot of near misses.
	After two weeks of missions, we'd successfully inspected three of the five sites, and found. . . very little, unfortunately.  Johannes had been right, these creatures didn't leave much of a trace to give us any real idea what areas they'd be most fiercely protective of.  We'd seen signs of them here and there, of course.  Stone carvings into the mountainside, intricate formations of rocks, boulders and terrain that had to have been man-made, the men referred to them as 'rock gardens', and many, many strange, terrifying fetishes left as warnings throughout the forest.  Usually, they were skulls adorned with feather headresses and macabre hanging collections of bones and red rope dyed and lashed to ancient trees, with gold coin-shaped pendants strung along them.  One of the men in our unit, a foreign species of fox I couldn't identify with oversized ears and a nervous, skittish personality, took notes on almost everything we saw, and often pointed out what something we encountered might mean.  Apparently he was a scholar of some sort, but seeing as nearly every fetish we found was usually also found near traps or ambushes, I was less interested in what he had to say about their significance, and more concerned with what Johannes had to say about what dangers we should expect to face in that neck of the woods.  
	We'd determined at least that the three sites we'd been to were still in use, although for what purpose, we could mostly only guess at.  The scholar with us confirmed one was a holy site of some sort, like a shrine.  But it was small, and we didn't find many recent tracks there, which meant it probably wasn't often used.  We'd had totems like that back home, to spirits whom our people rarely prayed to, or to spirits one tried mostly to avoid incurring the wrath of. 
	One of the other sites was likely a graveyard.  Although apparently, the way the Cathazra dealt with their dead was. . . significantly different than how our people, or the Amurescans, or nearly any other people I could think of did.  Johannes had confirmed for me that the rumors of the lizard people being cannibals were not just myths.  Apparently the creatures found the destruction of a body through burning, or through leaving the dead to rot, even under the earth, as sacreligious.  They ate their own dead, provided they had not died of illness or poisoning, as part of a holy rite.  Their 'graveyard' was little more than a bone pit inside a basin, where the peat swallowed up most of what could be seen. . . but here and there, the distinct, ivory protrusions made evident what the ghastly place was used for.  If one looked down into the surface of the water from a distance, it was like looking at the tangled roots of a marsh tree.  Except upon closer inspection, it became clear. . . they weren't roots. . . .
	Even if the graveyard was valuable to them, we couldn't burn it.  So it wasn't an option.  And I was glad.  Going to the place once had been enough.  For a lifetime.
	These people weren't like our people.  They weren't like the Otherwolves.  They weren't like any people I knew.  The gap between them and us was so massive, so unreachable. . . it was starting to become clear to me why the Amurescans here had so little pity for them.  So much revulsion.  I was trying very hard to be objective, reminding myself again and again- this wasn't my war.  But it was so difficult not to be completely terrified of the Cathazra.  They weren't just a culture apart, they were. . . worlds apart.
	The Otherwolves had come here and taken their land, the same way they had to my people.  The main difference seemed to be, there was little either side had to gain from one another, so no negotiations had been found to ease their presence here.  The locals' way of life was so inherently different than how the Otherwolves lived, and vice versa.  Neither side wanted to bridge the gap, and to be fair, it would have been a massive bridge to build.  I could somewhat understand why these people couldn't tolerate living together.
	The bottom line was, though. . . the Cathazra had been here first.  No matter how much I was repulsed by them, terrified by them, I had to keep reminding myself they were only defending their lands.  
	But on the other hand, most of the people in Serwich were innocents, only here to scrape a living from the difficult terrain, while some distant government pulled the strings.  Mistakes had been made, but ultimately, a lot of innocent people on both sides were suffering for them.  And now, most of the people here only wanted to live long enough to leave.
	And that's all we were trying to do.  Find an escape route that promised the smallest loss of life.  I had to keep telling myself that.  This wasn't my war.  But it was both so hard, and so easy, to empathize with either side.  It had me all twisted up.  I couldn't even imagine how the men in charge felt.  I saw it on the wolfhound's face, all the time.  That pensive, tenuous, exhausted stress, etched in every feature, every time we found a new site and it was a dud.  The weight of what we were doing with these missions was just beginning to sink in for me, but for him, it had been years of this.  The Admiral, too, had to be feeling it.
	This is probably what Connall and the heads of state in Carvecia had felt, in trying to deal with the disease.  And we had to be careful not to go the route they did.  In times of tension like this, with so much on the line, it was far too easy to take the low road to accomplish what needed to be done.  But there was always a better way, I was convinced.  And this time I had a chance to help them find it.
	Because the alternative to us finding a site was to sacrifice a few ships worth of men, to draw away the Cathazra while the citizens fled.  And that would mean many, many people dead, on both sides.  And Grayson's fleet would likely be one of the sacrifices.
	So we kept looking.  Risking life and limb, quite literally.  Every expedition left me exhausted, and we went out for two days at a time on some trips.  I could tell Magpie and Ransom were growing as weary and paranoid as I was, spending so much time in the jungle.  But we all knew we had to.
	At the beginning of our third week. . . at length. . . we found something.  Something beyond what we'd all expected.
	It had been a particularly hot day, and we'd had to take more breaks than usual, since the site we were going to investigate was fairly high up in the cliffs.  That also meant there were less places to take cover from Drakes, so everyone was on edge.  The higher we got, the less trees were able to support my weight, and in time, I had to stick to the ground.  Johannes called for all of the units to group together, in case of an attack.  If we couldn't hide from the beasts, there was no need to be scattered.  Drakes usually couldn't clear the tree line, even this high up, but they would circle an area and shriek whenever they spotted us, which drew in their ground troops.  If we were spotted on the cliffs, we'd not be able to avoid that, but being spread out just made it easier for the guerillas to pick us off one by one.  We still weren't keeping in tight formation, because Johannes wanted to avoid giving the Wyrms a large block of men to shoot at, but we were keeping within eyesight of one another, moving over the rocky terrain.
	It was a bad place to be, with no real good solution to deal with an attack.  Which was just our luck.  
	I saw the drakes in the distance probably at about the same time they saw us.  I gave a shrill, sharp whistle, imitating one of the jungle birds here.  Masquerading the warning call was useful when we'd been in the jungle and could hide easily enough, but out here, I knew it was pointless.   We all went for cover, skidding under rocks and the low, gnarled trees that managed to grow this high. . . but I knew they'd seen us.
	As it turned out, it hardly mattered, because so had someone else.  The roar that cut through the late-afternoon heat literally echoed off the cliff face, bouncing through the sharp, jagged rocks so that I couldn't tell which direction it was coming from.  It wasn't like the roar of a big cat, or a Dyre, it was. . . sharper, like a hiss cut with the screech of a bird.  I saw Ransom nearby, an arrow already nocked as he straightened from his makeshift hiding location, and I took that as a sign that it wasn't worth it for any of us to hide any longer.  Ransom was a far more seasoned hunter than I, and still, even after all the experience I'd had over the last two years, I trusted his instincts more than my own.  
	If he'd given up on avoiding this fight, then it was happening.
	Even before the creature came into sight, I knew it wouldn't be Wyrms this time.  The small, snakelike creatures never made a noise.  I wasn't certain if they were incapable of it, or if they simply didn't speak when they were hunting, but they'd certainly never roared.
	The first thought that crossed my mind when I saw my first Dragon was utter confusion that something so brightly-colored could have snuck up on us.  The beast was bright crimson, and close to eight feet tall, sporting a thick, ropy tail and just as much natural armored plating down its body as the Drakes had, if not more.  It was barely clothed, save a loincloth loosely slung over its lean hips, and golden jewelry hung about its neck and wrists, sparkling in the sun. It had a crest that straightened into a raised frill as it lept from a nearby ledge with a longspear, landing upon and impaling one of the Amurescan soldiers. . . one of the veteran Otherwolves who'd taught me about the vipers. . . I think his name had been Sam.
	The beast straightened with a low growl, plucking the weapon from the now dead man's back, and for a moment I was almost too shocked at the brazen display to respond.  
	Thankfully, some of the more seasoned men hadn't been, and a small volley of crossbow fire, and one arrow from Ransom's bow, rained down on the exposed, unafraid creature.  Ransom's arrow at least struck home, lodging in the beast's midsection through one dense, armored chestplate scale, but if it cared, it didn't show it.  Another arrow seemed to have caught it across the shoulder, and that one at least drew blood- I could smell it on the wind.  I vaguely remembered a soldier talking about crossbows having better penetration between these creatures' scales.
	The beast bellowed at us, swung its spear into both hands, and charged, bounding over the rocky terrain as easily as a horse across an open field.  Its broad, powerful clawed feet were at home on these cliffs in a way none of us could hope to be, and it closed the gap between the man it had killed and its next intended victim in less than a few seconds.
	What's more, its red scales reflected the stark sunlight up here on the red stone cliffs, making it hard to follow as it moved between the rocks. . . and all at once, its color made sense.
	I tried to train my arrow, but I knew the second I let it loose that I'd missed.  I cursed, grabbing for another, and wondering if I'd even be able to strike this creature, let alone penetrate its hide.  Ransom, some thirty feet to my left, seemed to be contending with the same realization, and was hastily unshouldering his rifle.  He had to have a shot packed, but it was far from a precise weapon.  If he was lucky, he'd get a shot at the Dragon only after it killed another of our men.  When it was moving, it was hard enough to follow even with a bow.
	I set my jaw grimly, convincing myself at that moment that I had to give him a chance to down the creature, if we could possibly find one.  Even if it meant moving into melee.  There was only one of the beasts that I'd seen. . . but there were probably more in the surrounding area, and the longer this fight took, the better our chances were of attracting more.  We had to end this fast.
	I fired the arrow I had nocked just as the Dragon closed into combat with another of our men, and realized in horror, just at about the same time I was aware that I'd missed once again, that the rodent it was about to hit head-on was Magpie.  He was swearing and had dropped his rifle, making for a nearby tree, which could only mean it had misfired or jammed.  
	He was exposed, unarmed save his hunting knife, and by no means faster than the far larger beast.  He was in trouble.
	My heart leapt into my throat and I raced across the rocky terrain, as fast as my paws could carry me over the sharp-edged rocks and coarse soil.  The boulders on these cliffs jutted from the earth with blackened edges, and could cut into your pawpads like glass, but right now, I didn't care.  I wasn't about to watch as another of my companions was killed right in front of my eyes.  I wasn't even certain what I'd do when I got there.  My arrows were literally one of my only efficient weapons, I'd never been in a situation before where I couldn't kill a person with them if need be.  I'd even managed to shoot down the Drakes with my bow.  
	But these creatures had thicker scales, and what areas looked vulnerable on them were too small a target to shoot accurately when they could move like that.  I could probably nail one of them in the chest the way Ransom had if I were trying, but I'd been aiming for limbs, since I'd seen how much effect the torso hit had made.  Namely. . . none.  
	I was practically as ill-equipped for this confrontation as Magpie was with a jammed gun.  All I had besides my bow were my claws, my teeth and one old knife.  Nonsensically, I wished for a moment that I'd brought along Grant's gun.  I still didn't know how to use it, or how to keep and store the powder, let alone target the foreign weapon accurately, but at least it would have given me some other option.
	Just as it came to mind, I heard the familiar crack like thunder echoing through the cliffs, and the Dragon bucked in mid-step of his charge, pitching forward and half-sliding, half-tumbling down a slanted expanse of jagged rock and loose soil.  He fell a good five feet before he was out of sight, over the edge of one of the nearby cliffs, and by then I'd made it to my friend. . . who wore the expression of a man who'd looked death in the eye.
	“Magpie!”  I cried, nearly out of breath from even the short sprint.  I all but fell into the rat, clutching at his shoulders.  For some reason, it was so hard to breathe up here. . . .
	The rat was still staring at where the beast had been not seconds earlier, and as I turned to look as well, both of our eyes fell on the splatter of blood cascading over the rocks.  
	“Who-” I began.
	“Role call!”  a familiar voice boomed from nearby, and I saw the wolfhound leaping down from a nearby vantage point, an outcropping of rock slanting upwards towards the sky.  He was in the process of re-loading a pistol as he walked, making his way towards us.  Some of our men began to call out their names and emerge from where they'd taken up hiding, or in the case of people like Ransom and I, had been preparing to fight.  As the small group of men re-gathered, Johannes stepped up beside the two of us, briefly putting a paw on Magpie's shoulder.  Ransom made it to us at that point, equally out-of-breath, if not moreso.  His lungs weren't as strong as mine, and even I was struggling up here.
	“Holy hell, rat!” the coyote whuffed.  “That was a close fuckin' call!  I couldn'a gotten a shot off before he got t'you, that bloody bastard was fast!”
	Magpie still hadn't spoken, and I could tell he was trying to shake it off, but I wasn't the only one who'd noticed.  I saw the wolfhound's paw tighten somewhat on the rat's shoulder, and he leaned down, dropping his voice.  “Are you alright, son?”  he asked, quietly.  
	Gabriel was visibly shaking, and I swallowed.  I'd rarely seen him like this, nor did I know what triggered these episodes for him, but I hadn't forgotten what Grant had said a long time ago about the rat's problems.  Perhaps it had been the gun malfunctioning that had him so shaken up?  I'd seen him face monsters before without balking.  It was hard to say what shook the man up. . . he was so private, most of the time.
	I was about to say something, I don't really know what. . . anything I could think of, when the wolfhound spoke again.  “You're not alone right now,” he said in that calm, even tone.  Like a man who did know what to say.  “Wherever your mind is at. . . you're not there anymore.  You have comrades all around you.  Come back to us.”
	The rat turned his head at that, blinking for a few moments at the wolfhound, before giving a thick breath in the back of his throat, and nodding.  “Ah'm. . . alright.  I, uh. . .” he glanced past us, as though lost for a moment, “. . . where's my gun?”
	“I'll get it,” I said quickly, darting off towards the abandoned rifle.  Ransom followed me, glancing back at the rat and the wolfhound once more before he fell in step behind me.  
	“Spooky,” he muttered.
	“I wouldn't talk if I were you,” I reminded him.
	The coyote shook his head.  “I meant the beastie.  Eerie how it just came up on us like that.  Wouldn't think something so big. . . .”
	“I know,” I said grimly.  “But, all of the men have been saying the Dragons are the worst to contend with.”
	“Worse than the big'uns?”
	“I think that's up for debate,” I muttered, as I bent over to pick up Magpie's discarded long-rifle.
	“I dunno, it'd be hard to top somethin' I can't shoot dead with an arrow to th'chest,” the coyote said with an annoyed sneer.  “Seriously.  Fuck this place.  I hate that boat, but we can't get outta here soon enough.” 
	“Anyway, don't get comfortable yet,” I said, sweeping my eyes back to the skies.  I could still see the drakes circling, distantly.  They were sounding an alarm we could hear even from here, the distant screeching eerie in a way that sent chills down my spine.
	“They ain't comin' down,” Ransom said, sounding uneasy.  “They could, too.  Ain't much tree cover up here.”
	“It's like they know someone on these cliffs will hear them,” I said, picking up my pace and jogging back over towards the collecting group of men.  “That Dragon wasn't alone.  Come on, hurry!”
	The coyote groaned and jogged after me, muttering something about quitting smoking.  
	By the time we made it back over to our gathering group, the wolfhound was back to giving orders, and Magpie was shakily lighting a cigarette, looking like a man who was trying to maintain his composure.  
	“O'Brian,” the wolfhound said, even as his eyes swept the horizon again.  Just like I'd been.  He was minding the drakes with just as much concern.  “Get Samuel,” he ordered the large canine.  O'Brian was something of a mule for our unit, the largest soldier who could keep up with us.  He'd helped carry several other men home when they'd been wounded by traps or vermin.
	“Sir?”  the brindle-furred canine said, raising his brows and glancing back to our fallen comrade.  “I. . . Sam. . . he ain't with us no more. . . .”
	“I don't care,” the wolfhound said sharply.  “We don't leave our dead to the Cathazra.  The man has a family back in the settlement.  They deserve to bury him, not have nightmares over what the beasts will doubtless do with his corpse.  Now go.”
	“Yes, sir!” the large canine said, seeming to catch the wolfhound's meaning with a grim set to his jaw.  He headed back towards the fallen man.
	“We've hit a nest of them,” Johannes stated, staring once more to the sky.  “I'm certain of it.  I don't think this is a random temple, or simply holy land.  I think there's a tribe nearby.  There wouldn't be Dragons here otherwise.  We need to pull out.”
	The mood amongst the small group of men shifted dramatically at that.  Even being here for as little time as I had, I knew that was bad.  A tribe meant protected lands.  It meant we could be near the real warriors these 'Cathazra' had, deep within the heart of their own civilization.  I'd thought the cliffs were supposed to be unoccupied land, but. . . perhaps our information had been wrong.  If we were actually on their land right now, near where their people's 'villages' were, we were encroaching.  We were literally in a warzone.
	“We're splitting into threes again,” Johannes stated, as several of the men shifted on their feet uncomfortably, their attention rapt on their leader.  “Priority now is getting down the cliffs as fast as possible, and getting this information back to Serwich.  If there's another tribe this close, we have bigger concerns than sniffing out a holy site.”
	“You said the drakes an' these 'dragons'll pick us off faster if we split up up here,” Ransom, ever brazen about expressing his opinion, stated.  “What'n the hell's the point in makin' it easier on them?”
	“Priority,” the canine repeated, his grey eyes settling hard on the coyote, “is getting this information home.  Is that clear?  If one group is cornered, if even two, provided the third makes it home, we've done our job.”
	The cold words settled on us like a frost.  I saw Ransom's face twist up, but I knew he was thinking of Puck back in Serwich, and that's the only thing that stayed him from fighting the wolfhound any further.  
	No one else disagreed.  All of these men had someone back home to protect.
	“Left flank, use the game trails we found earlier,” Johannes ordered, gesturing to the three remaining members of that squad, two of which were Magpie and Ransom.  “You're the fastest on the ground, I want you to have the best chance-”
	“Like hell!” the coyote bit out, proving my pride for him staying his tongue misplaced.  “Let the boys with the stiff and the supplies take the easy way down-”
	“Maximizing our chances-” the wolfhound began to say. . . .
	I saw the battered Dragon pulling itself up over the cliff edge in the split second before it swept its claws out and swiped them at the first reachable person it could.  
	Johannes.
	The swing was wild, and the rock the creature was barely clinging to gave way almost as soon as it tipped its weight into it.  But it was enough.  It was enough to knock the wolfhound off-balance, especially with the Cathazra Dragon gripping at his leg, and pull the man forcefully over the edge with it.
	Almost as soon as the horrifying sight had come, it was gone, and so was Johannes.  And I was running to the edge of the cliff, alongside several of the others, and skidding to a halt at the edge, rocks raining down the precipice.  
	It wasn't a sheer drop, and it wasn't a long one, but it was long enough.  By the time I'd gotten to the edge to see what had happened, the tall wolfhound and the Dragon were nearly done tumbling end over end down the sharp-toothed cliffside, thirty or forty feet down, it was hard to tell. . . and the beast fell hard on its back, blood pooling where it crumpled. . . but it was still moving, shaking its head slowly.  Impossibly.
	Johannes had managed to roll with the fall, likely he'd rolled the whole way down the cliffside, or at least tried to get his footing, because he fell gracefully in comparison, but I heard him cry out as his arm caught between two wedged rocks and jerked in a motion I knew was bound to have caused an injury.  When he finally came to a halt, he was struggling to his feet far before the Dragon could, which was to say not quickly at all. . . but he was still alive.
	His arm hung at his side, and he was battered and bleeding, but he was alive.  And he still had a packed gun.
	I called out to him, as did several of his men.  The man wrenched his gun from his holster with his off-hand, took about one second to aim at the beast slowly swaying to its feet before him, and fired.
	And missed.
	The beast wasn't even moving particularly fast, but I knew the man was right-handed and firing with his left, and he'd just suffered a bad fall.  It still made my heart sink to watch.  He seemed a world away.  I heard several of the men readying crossbows, and even Ransom was pulling his bow, but down an inward-facing cliff. . . .
	And the beast was already roaring, its bloody maw snapping  like a whipcrack as it sluggishly but determinedly charged the wolfhound.  The man pulled the large sword I'd seen him carrying from his hip, the steel catching the late afternoon sunlight as it cut across the hazy ocean below us, and for a moment. . . just for a moment. . . I knew for a fact I was about to watch a man die.
	Unless I did something.
	“GO!” the wolfhound screamed hoarsely, as he raised his weapon to the eight-foot-tall monster coming for him.  The beast had lost his spear in the fall, but it still had claws, and even parried, the first blow nearly blew the wolfhound off his feet.
	I'd been so absorbed by the battle taking place beneath us, it didn't occur to me until that moment that there was a more present threat to our own lives closing in.  But at that point, I heard the roars echoing down the mountainside from overhead, and a man behind me shouted, “DRAKES!”
	Ransom aborted his impossible shot down the cliffside at the last minute, swearing viciously as the shrieks of the flying creatures closed in.  His arrow sung into the air, and one of the blue, winged beasts veered off-course, but avoided being struck.  I felt his paw grab at my shoulder, and he snapped, “C'mon sweetheart!  We can't do nothin' for him!”
	But I was already shouldering my bow, looking for the best way down.  The wolfhound was fending off another impossibly strong blow from the dying Dragon, but the creature seemed immortal.  Nothing had killed it yet.  I didn't know what I could do, but I had to try.
	“Damnit, listen t'the man's orders!”  the coyote yelled, as I began to scramble down the cliff.  “Shivah!  He's willin' t'die for 'em. . . do what he says!”
	His protests faded when I leapt nearly six feet down to a lower ledge, because right then, I'd hit the point of no return, and the coyote must have known it.  There was no quick way back up, now.  I heard him shout my name once more, and then I could barely hear anything over the sound of the wind buffeting the cliffside, and the hellacious noise of the Dragon below me.  I pulled my knife as I skidded down the remaining broken terrain, careful not to lose my footing, but unable to stop running, lest I topple end over end.  It was a controlled charge at this point.
	When I at last made my way to the wolfhound, he'd managed to fend off another attack, and the creature was reeling back, clutching at a bloodied eye.  Madder than hell, of course.
	“I told you to run, damnit!”  the canine swore, which was, to say the least, unusual for him.  
	“And leave you to die?”  I said with a huff, catching my breath.
	“I expect no less of my men,” the wolfhound said, around a labored pant, “my life is no more important than theirs-”  
	“Yeah, and we can talk about how 'bloody' noble that is and all, later,” I said between grit teeth, “once this thing is dead!”
	The beast came at us again, choosing to swipe its tail out this time, which very nearly caught me in the legs, since I was slightly farther forward than the wolfhound.  Fortunately, it took it some time to turn from the swing, and during that, Johannes shouted to me, gesturing with his sword.
	“Can you get past it. . . around it?”  he shouted over another frustrated roar from the beast.
	“What?”  I called back, uncertain what he meant.
	“Flank it!”  he bit out.  “You're faster than I am-”
	“Got it!”  I said, springing forward just as the beast pitched itself forward into a run towards us.  I charged it head-on until just the last second, then juked to the side and tumbled to the right of it, skidding along the unusually slippery rocks on the cliff face. . . wet from the mists and lichen, and probably the creature's blood. . . and narrowly avoiding its tail again.  But I was behind it, just as it was closing in with Johannes again.
	This time I knew the creature's claws had caught the wolfhound, at least partially.  I smelled fresh blood, heard him grunt and half-stumble, half-dodge the beast as it snapped at him.  But I had my opening.
	I coiled my legs beneath me, gripped my knife as tightly as I could, and leapt.  The beast happened to be bent over at that moment, and that made clearing enough air to land on its back fairly easy.  It was the next part that was hard.
	I used the force of my fall to sink the blade in, as deeply as I could between its shoulder-blades, hoping and praying I'd plunge it in deep enough to hit something important.  But the Dragon was enormous, layered in thick, ropy muscle and scales, so it was far from guaranteed.
	My blade sunk in deeply, at least, and once I had it in, I clung on for dear life.  The Dragon reared back, nearly throwing me off as it tried to buck me free.  I held fast to my blade, using every ounce of strength in my body to try. . . desperately. . . to plunge it in deeper.  To penetrate its heart, its lungs. . . anything.  I could dimly see the wolfhound over the beast's shoulder, staggering back with blood seeping down his chest from where he'd been hit with the beast's claws, panting from exertion and still readying to charge the creature again, despite that. 
	I couldn't help but remember every other time in my life I'd fought an enemy- enemies far weaker and less terrifying than this beast- whom I'd been helpless to stop.  Methoa, who'd taken my son from me.  Shadow, who'd taken Grant from me.  It didn't matter that this man was barely known to me, barely a comrade. . . what mattered was. . . .
	I wasn't weak anymore.  And I wasn't going to let this happen again.  Not if I could stop it.
	I began to feel the beast weaken, and it stumbled back, away from Johannes.  It began clutching for me, tossing its tail at me, but I was far smaller than it, and in a difficult spot for it to reach.  I clung to its back by sinking the claws of my feet into its ribs, and shoved at the dagger with all my might, until it was buried to the hilt.  Yet still. . . impossibly. . . it was alive and moving.
	If one of these 'Dragons' was this hard to kill, I couldn't even imagine facing an army of them.
	“Shivah!”  a familiar voice called over the din of the battle, from somewhere distantly to my right, past the Dragon, past Johannes, even.  “Get down!”
	I did as I was told, and ducked behind the creature's back, just as the rifle shot split the air.  Something in the creature's skull popped, and it stumbled back. . . and at last, I felt its body go limp.
	I abandoned my knife, leaping away from it before it fell.  A wise decision, as it turned out, because the creature wouldn't simply have fallen atop me.  The cliff ledge we were on was slightly sloped, and when it tumbled over, it also rolled, and pitched down into oblivion beneath us.  A far steeper drop I wouldn't have survived.
	“Damnit, cat!”  the coyote growled as he skidded down the last few feet of the cliffside towards us.  “Was that mah old knife?  I had a lotta memories with that blade-”
	He didn't get to finish his statement, because at that point, I'd thrown myself forward into his arms, and was hugging the life out of him.  The coyote's body loosened up, and he gave a long sigh, settling a hand on my head.  “A'ight, calm down,” the canine muttered, stroking my hair, “you did mosta' the hard work, anyway.”
	“Thank you,” I said in a small, hoarse voice, unable to really fully express my love for the coyote in that moment.  I dragged in a thick breath, looking up at him, and I was absolutely certain my eyes were glassy.  I exhaled sharply, trying not to laugh or cry.  “When did you become a good man, Ransom?”
	I swear, the coyote looked. . . embarrassed, at that.  His eyes darted aside, and he scratched at his neck.  When he spoke again, it was sort of a murmur, like when he'd admitted to having fleas or something.  “Yer confusin' 'good' and 'stupid' again, Shiv. . . and you know I'll always pull yer ass outta the fire when y'do somethin' in the latter.  Yer mah girl.”
	I scrunched up my muzzle somewhat, but I couldn't keep from smiling.
	“. . . not like that,” the coyote muttered, rolling his eyes.  “Although th'offer's still always open, y'know-”
	I punched him, and he snorted back a laugh.  But at that moment, I remembered we weren't alone, and shouldered gently past him, towards the wolfhound.  The man was on the ground now, his sword at his side.  He was conscious, kneeling, but he wasn't in the best condition.  I couldn't really assess the entirety of his wounds at the moment, but I knew at least he'd broken or sprained his arm, and he'd suffered a few scrapes and bumps on the way down.  More worrisome, though, were the expansive. . . if shallow, by the look of them. . . claw marks.
	His eyes were still on the sky, though.  Ransom was looking as well, and soon, so was I.  
	“My men-” the wolfhound began.
	“Followed orders,” the coyote responded, looking down at the wolfhound.  I glanced his way, and he nodded.  “Yeah, even Magpie.  Else th'left flank would've been weak.  I think he really respects you, oh fearless leader.  And that ain't no small thing.”  He dug around in his pocket, looking for a cigarette, I was certain.  Regardless of his vow earlier.  “He told me t'get you home alive,” he muttered around the tobacco stick he'd shoved between his teeth, then his eyes fell on me, “. . . both of you.  So c'mon.  Them drakes don't seem to've realized we're down here yet, but one of 'em's gonna spot us eventually.”
	“Can we even get back up?”  I asked, looking up the sheer cliffside.
	“Nah,” the coyote said with a heavy sigh, his yellow eyes sweeping over the jagged cliffs.  “But we can crawl our way outta this.  Just gotta find the right path down.  Y'all are lucky t'have me,” he said, flashing a fang as he grinned, and began to make his way along the rock ledge, towards the nearest trespassable path downwards.  “One thing I'm good at is gettin' outta tight spots.  Just follow real close.  And Shiv, help him along.”
	I nodded, reaching down and gingerly putting an arm around the wolfhound's shoulders.  I'd never be able to carry him, but I could at least help support him.
	Thankfully, that's all he seemed to need.  He was unsteady on his feet, but able to walk.  He was being unusually quiet, though, and his eyes were slipping closed from time to time, which made me nervous.  He didn't seem to be bleeding enough to kill him, but. . . I wasn't a healer.  I didn't think his wounds were life-threatening, but. . . .  
	“How are you feeling?”  I asked softly, even though I knew it did little good.  I mostly just wanted to keep the man talking to me.
	“. . . seeing double. . .” he said at length, like he didn't want to admit it.  “The arm and the. . . wounds. . . not'the. . . problem.”
	That was bad.  I'd never heard the man slur his speech before, not like Ransom did on a daily basis.  My arm was wet with something from where it was pressed alongside his skull, and I drew it away for just a moment to see.  It was about what I expected.  At some point on the fall down, he'd struck his head.  Again, it didn't look major, but I'd had enough head injuries in my life to know what they felt like.
	I reaffirmed my grip on his shoulder, helping him down a particularly steep slope.  Ransom had his bow out, on vigil for us. . . as if it would do much good if a drake showed up.  At this point we just had to hope we weren't spotted. 
	“It's alright,” I said, keeping my voice firm.  “Just keep talking to me.  You have to stay awake, alright?”
	The man nodded, which I took as a good sign.  I forced a slight laugh.  “You're a hell of a tough bastard, you know that?”  I said, using some of the slang I'd learned in the colony.  “You fought that thing seeing two of them?  How did you even know where to swing?”
	“Guessed,” the wolfhound said, dryly, then winced, glancing down at the rake marks on his chest.  “. . . guessed wrong, one of the times.”
	“Sound strategy,” I said, smiling for real that time.
	“Not my preferred method for. . . combating Dragons,” the man said.  “But, didn't have much of a choice in th'matter.”
	He stumbled, suddenly, and I caught him under the arm, forcing him back up.  He stopped for a moment, probably to gather his senses or stave off a swell of nausea or dizziness, if my own experience was any indication.  I held on to him and let him take the moment to recover.
	“If I become too much of a burden, please-” he began.
	“I didn't leave you to get eaten by a Dragon,” I said, annoyance laced through my tone.  “What makes you think I'd leave you here now, just because you have to take a breather every now and then?  It's fine.”
	“We need to get to tree cover, quickly,” the wolfhound said, blinking his eyes a few times as he gathered himself, “I don't want your efforts to save one life. . . end up costing two more. . . .”
	“I promised your friend I'd get you back,” I said, firmly.  “Now shut up.  Besides, it's not just your life I'm thinking of.  You have nine children and a wife back home.  He told me.”
	“My wife is dead,” the man said, in a tone so flat and quiet, I barely heard it.  I knew the moment he said it that I'd just heard something that, perhaps, I hadn't been meant to hear.  If this were any other time.  If he weren't suffering from a head wound.  That hadn't been a simple admission.  His best friend had told me-
	“What in the bloody hell?”  Ransom's voice, and the fact that he'd stopped dead in his tracks, caught both of our attention.  I nearly went for my bow, before realizing I still had a wolfhound to support.  But the man himself was trying to go for his weapon as well.
	“Ransom, what?” I asked, my heart racing.  The coyote wasn't aiming at anything, though.  He was just sort of. . . standing in place, staring down at something.  From what little I could see from where I was, just a mass of collected brush and dirt that was piled on the nearby cliffside.  
	Piled in a way that didn't look natural, I realized.
	We made our way over towards him, and soon, we were staring down at the same baffling sight.  Ransom glanced at the two of us, then back down into the 'nest'. . . that's what it was, I was slowly realizing.  An enormous nest.
	“What'n the hell am I looking at?” the coyote asked, dumbfounded.
	What we were looking at. . . I knew what they were, of course, but it was almost lunacy to voice it aloud.  They were enormous.  Tannish-red, leathery, and easily twenty times the size of any I'd ever seen before in my life.
	“Eggs,” Johannes breathed, then swept his eyes back up the cliffside, from where we'd fallen.  “Oh, lord,” he uttered.  “This isn't a holy site.  These are nesting grounds.”