The burly man’s words struck Bob dumb; he said nothing more, only stood aside, watching coldly as the two fragile young girls were led away by the thugs.

  Though his daughter’s pleading gaze clung to him, though in his own heart he still fancied himself her father—

  “Bonnie, I’m sorry… I should never have brought you here…” Layla, seeing her father refuse to intervene, wept quietly as she whispered an apology to Bonnie.

  Regret consumed her. Had she known such a fate awaited, she would never have invited her friend along.

  Whether or not Bonnie heard her words, she gave no reply—only trembled and sobbed, unable to control herself.

  A guttural growl, low and vicious like that of a hound, suddenly split the air. All five present froze in astonishment.

  The two thugs turned instinctively, only to behold a sight that nearly stole the breath from their lungs. Terror slackened their grip on the girls, allowing both to wrench themselves free.

  From the shadowed depths of the forest emerged the towering silhouette of a beast, vast and fearsome, its single glowing eye fixed upon the men with murderous intent. That lupine growl had been its warning.

  Though these two brutes had killed before and dwelled in the underworld, rumor was one thing, and the reality of a magical beast was quite another. To face a power beyond one’s control shook them to their very marrow.

  Bob, too, saw the creature. His lips quivered, and warm shame spread down his trousers. At last he shrieked:

  “My God! Don’t come closer!”

  Before the cry had faded, Bob had already fled. The thugs, jarred awake, bolted in turn, abandoning all thought of their quarry.

  From the moment they broke free, Layla and Bonnie clung to one another, blind to their surroundings, hearing only the terrified shouts of the three men.

  They knew something had driven those men to panic, though neither dared lift her eyes to see.

  At last, after a few trembling heartbeats, Layla forced herself to look up. The clearing was empty. She glanced toward the direction of the growl—nothing stirred.

  “We… we should go, Bonnie. Come on.” She helped her friend to her feet, brushed the dust from her skirt, then from her own, and with wary glances around, guided them back toward Dud Town.

  Inside a modest room, Glen was packing his gear, preparing to take the beast into the forests near Bayek Town for a hunt, intending afterward to sell the spoils in Dud.

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  This, he had decided, would serve as his means of income for the time being.

  He had just finished tying the last bundle when he heard a faint sound beyond the door. Setting his things aside, he opened it.

  There loomed the beast’s monstrous face, single eye fixed on him, thick saliva dripping in heavy strings.

  “What is it?” Glen arched a brow.

  The beast licked its nose, parted its great jaws, and released a series of plaintive, almost comical whines—strange, yet curiously human.

  Another might never grasp its intent. Glen could.

  “You mean… those two girls ran into three men who sought to harm them, and you frightened the men away?” Glen tested the interpretation.

  At last he narrowed his eyes, murmuring low, “Ordinarily no one strays into these woods. For them to stumble upon Layla and Bonnie at just the right moment… one of the girls must have been the true target. No matter. They’re safe—that’s enough.”

  The beast remained, staring at him with a look of yearning. Glen paused, then said, “You did well.”

  The creature instantly capered like an overgrown hound, leaping and bounding across the yard in a frenzy of delight.

  Even Glen was taken aback, hastily commanding it to stop before the garden was trampled beyond repair.

  So this was the true nature of his beast… Glen could only shake his head.

  The commotion had surely drawn attention, for he felt several gazes fall upon him. He cast but a casual glance toward one of the houses, then ordered the beast to wait beyond the town’s edge. Once it departed, he returned to gather his tools.

  High in the window of a two-storied house, a puppet in a blue vest lowered the curtain. The room sank once more into dimness, lit only by the faint flicker of a candle.

  “That noisy new neighbor will disturb Aina,” the puppet’s voice rasped, flat and mechanical.

  “Parindes, you’re too stingy. This place is dull enough—what harm is there in a little liveliness?” Another voice answered, equally monotonous, though light and girlish.

  “I worry for you, my sister. I will not permit anyone to hurt you again. That is something I cannot accept.”

  The blue-vested puppet stepped to the table, its joints creaking.

  “No one will hurt me here. You worry too much, Parindes. We should try venturing out. When our master created us, surely she never meant for us to waste away as shut-ins!”

  The female puppet moved nearer the candlelight, her form revealed. Compared with Parindes, she bore a far more lifelike beauty—delicate features, flowing golden hair, and a gown of fine design, like a princess sprung from a fairy tale. The care of her maker was plain to see.

  “Aina,” Parindes pleaded softly, his wooden voice tinged with weary affection, “I know you have grown weary of this cloistered life. But until we have word from our master, we must not show ourselves to strangers.”

  “To hide ourselves forever in this sealed room—how will we ever hear word of her? Even if tales of our master circulate outside, how would they reach us here? Foolish blockhead!”

  Her words left him speechless.

  Seeing his silence, Aina softened her tone. “My dearest brother, perhaps our master is even now searching for us. Even if we do not seek her, we should at least walk nearby and ask after news. If I stay trapped here much longer, mushrooms will sprout from my body…”

  Parindes thought to remind her that their bodies could not sprout fungi, but deemed it pointless. At last he yielded. “Very well—but only close by. We must not wander farther.”

  “Brother, I love you!” Aina’s lips pressed a playful kiss upon his cheek with a crisp smack.

  Beyond the town, Glen rode astride the beast, weaving through the thick forest. From the moment he first crossed into this world, he had noted the traces of wildlife—tracks, droppings, signs aplenty—proof that hunting would not be difficult.

  Blessed with the heightened senses of a werewolf, no scent escaped him. Now he pursued a herd of wild boars, their musk sharp upon the air, a trail he remembered well. Tracking them was child’s play.