Prologue

Hunger had driven him to the trees again. Foraging: a foreign notion to the others. They'd scold him later if he was found out, remind him of just how privileged he was and of how he could just go to them for a meal. But a part of him needed to scrape up his knees, to earn it, not expect it. 

So he'd devoted the morning to tracking down one last seasonal jojo fruit, and while the spoils of his hunt looked harmless enough, he'd been tricked before by first impressions. He reached for it in spite of himself, placing faith in a decidedly unreliable branch. The fruit dangled enticingly.

"You're going to fall," said a voice.

A sound prediction. Ethos lost his footing, but a merciful grip quickly caught his ankle, sparing him a painful landing. 

Ludo: as strong as he was vast. The inverted woodland creature smiled, flashing a bright set of pointed teeth. He teased, "See?"

Ethos did his best to scowl, dark hair dangling. "Only because you surprised me."

"The trees don't make excuses for leaning in a certain direction." Still partly teasing, Ludo shook a clawed finger at him. "There's no shame in learning your limits."

"You've made your point." 

"Have I? I won't always be here to catch you."

Ludo released him. Ethos made an undignified sound and landed hard in swirl of dust. Wincing, he rubbed at his hip and sulked. "That was unnecessary," he said. "Bad day?"

Apparently not. Ludo just laughed, a happy beast, towering like the trees themselves. Atokai, they called themselves. Earthborn. Oldwooders. Progeny of soil. They were fearsome, wondrous, kindhearted creatures, with eyes so clear and so big and so round, and in so many shades of impossible green, that Ethos thought they must be gods. Ludo was eldest of the thirteen clans, centuries old, his white-as-bone antlers gnarled with age.

Ethos returned to his feet. "Lend me a hand?"

"Being so small must be frustrating." Ludo dipped forward and said, "Quickly."

Ethos employed one such antler for leverage, and a swing of his legs dropped him into a squat on the curve of a colossal shoulder. He waited for Ludo to straighten before making a second attempt at the jojo, reaching, reaching, until, at last, he seized it, twisted, and snapped it free.

He must have made a sound of triumph, because Ludo asked, "What do we say?"

Ethos happily sat, legs hanging. "We say thank you."

"You're welcome."

The fruit was delicious, as advertised. Ethos kept a grip on Ludo's antlers as they made their way through the trees. "Where are we headed?"

"The southern boundary."

"Why?"

"The forest is grumbling," Ludo said. "Listen."

Ethos stopped chewing and closed his eyes, ear to the wind. "He's nervous."

"He's afraid." Ludo's every step rattled ground. The sun threw spots of light across dirt. "Men are approaching," he said, voice low, as if to keep it private somehow. "They're unpredictable."

"I'm a man. I'm nothing special." Nectar was streaming down Ethos' arm. He quickly licked it off and added, "I know the language. We should try speaking with them."

Ludo was quiet for a few lengthy moments. The nervous forest was restless, whispering. "You're one of us," he finally answered. "You know the code."

Ethos had expected as much. Blandly, he recited, " 'We keep to ourselves.' "

"That's right. It's not worth the risk."

"Do they look like me?"

"Some more than others."

"How many have you seen?"

Ludo stopped. "Are you happy here, Ethos?"

"That's a funny question."

"I don't know how these people will respond if they see you."

Ethos hesitated. "Why would it matter to them?"

"It's like I said before. They're unpredictable."

Ethos ate the jojo core, sucking the juice from his fingers. "This is my home," he said. "A couple of curious humans won't change that."

Ludo smiled and resumed his stroll. "Good."

Ethos leaned sideways, elbow hooked on a smooth bend of antler. He watched a fox tear through the foliage and said, "I had another dream last night."

"The same as before?"

"No." He shifted a little, neck curved as he surveyed the backlit canopy. "The sky was orange," he remembered. "Bright. Dawn or dusk, I think. It was hard to tell. And there were people with me. I knew them then, but not when I woke."

"Could they have been from your past?"

"Maybe." Ethos wriggled his nose, working out an itch. "I didn't like it, though," he said. "A part of me wished they would disappear."

"Perhaps you were feeling anger."

"But I don't have any anger."

Ludo stepped over the shell of a fallen tree, which, over the years, had melted into the lush forest floor. "Be adrift, Ethos," he advised. "If you follow the current, you'll never make waves. That's the key to playing it safe."

Ethos had heard it before. "I'm going on ahead."

Ludo chuckled, a low buzz of sound. "Am I too slow for you, tree mouse?"

"Much." Before Ludo could swipe at him, Ethos vaulted into the trees and sang, "I'll meet you there, o guardian of grubs."

Ludo's cheerful retort chased after him.

Ethos favored the boughs of goromacs, which could withstand burdens much greater than he. Bare feet slapped at quivering wood. Toenails scraped across bark. Dewy cobwebs filled the open spaces, glittering with midday sunshine. A word of warning tapped on his shoulder, advising him to slow down, to be careful, but the high of his eagerness overruled.

The branch supporting him came to a sudden end. Left with no other choice but to jump, he leapt from trembling the tip of it, reeling, and somehow snagged a thick sheet of moss. He peered about and assessed the options available to him.

But the herbaceous anchor had other plans. A shift in the mesh released Ethos unready through a cloud of indignant dragonflies, and when a tree limb below caught him hard in the gut, he wrapped his arms and legs all around it, resolved to prevent further unplanned movement.

Ethos instantly recognized the area. He surveyed the distance to the dirt, deemed it a safe enough fall, and dropped down. He landed low, silent as a leaf.

The clans had assembled a short ways ahead, close in proximity, muttering, and Ethos had to circle the horde a few times before finding some form of entry. He elbowed his way into the throng and nearly fell into a ring of discussion.

Shima was present, eyes ripe with sunlight while someone else spoke. She spotted Ethos and took a knee. "You shouldn't be here, little bird."

"Ludo said there were men."

"Yes, there are. They're on approach."

"Do you have any idea what they want?" 

"No." Her voice was strange. "Go home, Ethos."

"But— "

"Please do as I say."

Ludo appeared beside her, several shades darker than all the rest. He touched her arm. "He'll stay out of sight," he said. "He should see."

They exchanged a meaningful glance. Shima went to her feet. "You remember the last time they came," she whispered. "They aren't like us. They're dangerous."

Ludo took her hand in his. "Generations of men have come and gone since the founders came to our boundary," he reminded her. "If they wanted us gone, they'd have done it then, back when they were first colonizing. I said as much when the tono landed."

Ethos tried to follow along. "I can stay?"

Shima pressed her lips together, fixing them both with stern regard. She settled on Ethos. "You're not to speak with them," she instructed. "Not under any circumstance."

"But— "

"I want you hidden."

Ethos glowered, albeit submissively. "Treating me like clan doesn't make me less of a human."

Her brow knitted together. "You're different."

The horde began to shift. Ludo straightened, ears perked. "They come," he said. "Let's see what the gods have planned for us."

"We're doomed."

Calaster resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Are we?"

"Clearly." Kyrian nervously sighed from his mount. "These things eat people alive for the sheer mortal fun of it," he grumbled. "Gladius is going to get us all killed."

Gladius was none the wiser, leading them forward, out of earshot. "You'd impress me more if you said that to his face," Cal replied, glancing. "Scared?"

Sidelong, Kyrian peered through a greased fall of hair. He wasn't handsome by any stretch, but Cal wouldn't have called him ugly. He was a nothing sort of person. "Tell me I'm wrong," he challenged, with a sneer. "Tell me there's nothing out here to fear."

"The records are centuries old. Oldwooders keep to themselves."

"And that's exactly my point. Redbeard himself restricted the land. Ever wonder why?"

Benjamin Bagley was snooping, the cretin. He was pretending to review his records as they rode, but would furtively glance every now and again from behind a set of round, foggy glasses. He hadn't spoken much since their argument the night prior, a saving grace, though his sweaty expression left little to interpret. He met Calaster's eyes unintentionally. His meaty fingers gestured crudely.

A commotion ahead, from the forest edge. Gladius. His steed whinnied and turned about, plodding at ground and refusing forward. Something had spooked it. And no sooner had Calaster realized it than the rest of the horses joined the same vein.

Kyrian furiously wrestled with his reins. "Now here's a good sign," he said, in disdain. "Not even the beasts want to enter."

Gladius dismounted with practiced ease and cautiously calmed his unsettled companion. Hirsute, the man was, bearlike in build, hailed as a reincarnation of the great Hans Redbeard, who'd founded the country centuries prior. Calaster assumed it was mostly on the grounds of him looking the way that he did, size-wise, coupled with the undeniable fact that his beard was as red as the leaves were in fall. But while it was easy to chalk reputations up to appearances, one couldn't deny he was gifted as far as rulers went, five years now in the chair and humble. Not even the panicking steeds rattled him. 

"Dismount," he called out. "Let's go on ahead while we still have the sun."

Bagley felt for the ground with a stumpy foot. "Eadric will be returning by now," he said, of the council foreman out west. "I suspect he'll be annoyed that we're here."

Kyrian impatiently helped him down. His eyes didn't stray from the looming tree line. "It wasn't by chance that he was away when Gladius roped us in," he muttered. "I just hope we don't get punished for something that was out of our hands." 

The forest was a massive spread of land, steadfast between the northern mountains and the prairie lands of the east. Calaster himself was unsettled by it, as if he were looking some beast in the teeth. A breeze made rounds, carrying with it the scent of late autumn.

Kyrian's shoulder bumped into Cal, and it hadn't been by accident. "Don't fall behind," the vile northo leered. "Your beloved oldwood awaits."

And so they went. It was, Calaster had to admit, the most beautiful place he'd set eyes upon. Not even the Whitestar lands could compare, whose wooded grounds were so widely revered. The trees of the ancient forest alone were incomprehensibly colossal. Sheets of mist pooled at their ankles, exposing the polished topsides of bugs. Everything seemed alive and with colors unheard of.

At the lead, Gladius stopped and gestured them silent. And it wasn't any great mystery why. The forest gods had come to greet them, obscured by pockets of arboreal murk. Sentinels of nature, indeed. It was a blockade of nightmarish giants.

Kyrian had gone stiff. "Gods alive," he breathed. "It's an ambush."

Gladius had to clear his throat to address them. "Who speaks for your clans?"

Stillness consumed the forest, breached by the cry of a mournful crow.

"We shouldn't be here," Bagley said, eyes too wide, clutching catalogues. "Let's fall back. They'll devour us all at the rate we're going."

"Don't panic," Cal cut in. "They haven't done anything yet."

A couple of the creatures were looking in the same direction, so Calaster followed their incredible eyes to where the tallest member stood. Antlered and dark, it observed the space with fierce intelligence, and what began as a study of its expressive face quickly escalated into all-out bewilderment.

"Is that a person?" he heard himself ask.

A young man was peering curiously over its massive shoulder, blinking in owlish surprise at being an unexpected subject of attention. Instantly, he ducked out of sight.

Kyrian closed his gaping mouth. "You, there!" he shouted. "Show yourself!"

"Quiet," Calaster hissed. "Don't lose your temper, Kyrian."

Gladius drew as near to the blockade as he dared, eyes moving from giant to giant. He'd seen the boy, too. "There's nothing to be afraid of," he said. "We'd just like to talk."

There was no sign of movement for a few soundless seconds, no acknowledgement of his words, until a strange sort of whispering arose from somewhere within the horde. When it petered out, the fur parted in answer.

It was a tawny boy, no older than twenty, naked from his unruly hair to the filthy, leathered soles of his feet. He had the limbs of a person who used his body regularly, but the way he moved had a weightless quality to it, as if a strong breeze might carry him off.

One of the fiends started after him. It was a female, by the look of it, golden-brown and visibly distraught, and it took two others to stop her advances. Calaster marveled at her reluctance to yield. Her surrender might as well have been the most heinous crime in creation.

Gladius waited to speak until the woodling boy was in earshot. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello." His voice was accented. It was entirely possible, if not likely, that he hadn't spoken the language in years. "Welcome to Harken."

"Welcome to Harken," Kyrian echoed, in disbelief. "He's even named it."

A wrinkle formed in the boy's brow. "Are you lost?"

Gladius tried to smile. "We've come on business from out west," he explained, making an effort to enunciate. "Do you live here?"

"I do."

"With them?"

"Yes, they live here, too."

"And you understand them."

"Mostly. What do you want?"

Calaster wondered if Gladius could remember a time when he'd been treated so curtly. But the boy's expression was neutrally pleasant. "Straight to the point," Gladius ventured. "Alright. Do you understand what an alliance is? Or a treaty?"

Something brewed in the woodling's eyes. It seemed closer to disappointment than anger. "Speak naturally, please," he said. "If I have a question, I'll stop you and ask it."

Bagley made a comical, strangled sort of sound.

Gladius hushed him with a glare. To the boy, he expressed, "I'd like you to grant me the courtesy of asking these creatures for their cooperation."

"Cooperation with what?"

"Mutual aid. I've come to see if they're open to an alliance."

After a lengthy, guarded moment, the boy turned and shouted out to the monstrous multitude at his back. It was a language that suited them well, Cal thought, consisting of fearsome, primitive noises. And while, admittedly, it sounded a bit strange coming out of the boy at first, who was fully facing away, pointing west, Cal took undeniable note that it suited him just as well. 

Aside, to Kyrian, Cal said, "They're communicating."

"You'd be dangerous if you had brains."

"Do you realize what this means?"

An argument arose in the blockade, but the boy barked something at the tallest one, seemingly unconcerned with the others. He thrust a finger at the ground, determined to defend whatever claim he'd made on Gladius' behalf. He wasn't afraid in the least.

But the tallest one spoke just once, very briefly, fangs flashing bright in the dark. It was enough to send the boy back to Gladius. "They refuse," he said, looking annoyed. "Please leave."

"Tell them they'll benefit," Gladius pressed, gesturing at him to stop and just listen. "We have the means to provide them with whatever they need to survive out here."

The woodling gave him a ghost of a smile. "And if we don't need anything?"

"Don't be absurd," Gladius said, voice going low so as not to shout. "Everybody has needs."

"I think you're confused. Wants and needs are two completely different things."

Gladius was quiet for once. "Where did you come from?"

He shrugged, relaxed. "The sky, they say."

"Do you have a name?"

"They call me Ethos."

"I'm Gladius."

"It's nice to meet you."

"Are there more of you here?"

Ethos smirked, as if at a joke. "Just me."

"But you must have people somewhere. Family. Parents."

"I do." The boy turned to indicate the golden-brown beast that had opposed his involvement. "My mother," he explained, glancing back. "Shima."

"How long have you been here?"

"As long as I can remember."

"But you must have learned the common tongue somewhere."

"Yes, since I'm standing here speaking it with you."

"Have you ever thought of leaving?"

Ethos just shrugged again. "This is home."

"This is a forest," Gladius disputed. "You're all alone here."

The woodling's coolness faltered, subtly. There was something vaguely familiar about the way his blue eyes narrowed in interest. "Ludo says there's no shame in learning our limits," he reasoned, but it sounded like he didn't quite get it. "He says we should flow with the current."

Kyrian must have tired of watching, because he spoke up, sounding snide. "That's a fine morsel of primitive wisdom," he said. "No wonder you're still living in fox holes."

"There's a false sense of security in routine," Calaster interjected. "You and the beasts can cling to seclusion, but change will inevitably tear it apart. Now is the time to start preparing for that."

Ethos finally looked directly at Cal. As expected, there was weight behind his eyes. "I don't make decisions for the atokai," he said. "Please understand."

So there it was. Calaster could feel the discussion slipping away from them. He might have argued the matter further, but Gladius spoke first. "The gift," he said. "Is there any truth to it?"

Mercifully, Ethos redirected his attention. "What gift?"

"Don't play dumb," Kyrian cut in. "No forest can thrive this far north."

Ethos imparted glimmer of comprehension. "Why do you want to know?" he demanded. "I'm told your kind is greedy and not to be trusted."

"Just look around, boy. We could make the growing seasons obsolete."

"There's famine," Gladius inserted. "Some years are better than others, but starvation is far from uncommon. People die. We could save lives if these creatures are what the legends claim."

Ethos had the sense to look torn. "What happens beyond the boundary has nothing to do with us," he said, at last. "Please go. It's not my decision."

"Selfish," Kyrian sneered. "Selfish and scared of what's out there."

"Call us what you want," Ethos returned. "At least we don't impose on others."

Kyrian bristled. "Do you have any idea who you're talking to?"

"Does your identity somehow change who you are?"

"I represent the Bonesteels."

"That name means nothing in this place."

Kyrian jerked a thumb at himself. "I'm Bonesteel highborn."

"You're just an unfriendly stranger. Altitude doesn't change that." 

It took a stretch of time to sink in. Bagley let out the barest of laughs.

"Filthy savage," Kyrian snarled, edging forward. "I'll feed you to the dogs."

Cal inserted himself between them, ending the terse exchange. "Don't."

Kyrian took a step back. "I wasn't going to hurt him."

"It didn't look that way to me."

Ethos was intent on their altercation, but his gaze drifted back to Gladius when the renowned king decided to speak. "You truly don't know where you came from?" he asked, red hair filled by a ripe shaft of sunlight. "Nothing?"

"That's what I said."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"It's irrelevant to my needs."

"Your family could be looking for you."

"I already have a family. I have no need for another."

"But you'll want to settle eventually," Gladius insisted. "A wife. Kids."

Ethos only shrugged a third time. He wasn't even looking at Gladius anymore, but to the flatlands hidden behind the trees. "What's it like out there?" he asked, nodding at it. "Does it go very far?"

Gladius smiled a little. "It'll seem that way at first," he replied. "But after a while, once you've run out of places to go, you'll realize it's not all that different from Harken."

Kyrian made a sound of derision. "Except there's soap."

Bagley helped, "And pastries."

"Ethos," Gladius said. "Even if the beasts reject our proposal, you're more than welcome to come back to the capital with us. You can return here whenever you like."

The atokai were like statues. At their front, Ethos let his eyes sink to the dirt. "I'll pass along your message," he said. "You should go now."

"I may visit at a later time."

Ethos turned away. "Come, if you must."

Gladius didn't reply. He stood there and watched them merge with the trees. "Nahga's the closest settlement," Bagley mumbled over his papers, wiping sweat from his brow. "I suggest we take the night to rest up and set off at daybreak for Oldden."

Kyrian scratched at his throat. "There are farmsteads at town's end," he mused. "We could have one of them put us up for the night."

Gladius turned as the last creatures vanished. He seemed to be thinking hard about something. "I can convince him to leave the forest with us," he knew. "I could see the appeal in his eyes."

Bagley spared a wry smirk. "Yeah, but why on earth would you want to?"

"Eadric would just love that," Kyrian sneered, swatting at a cloud of flies. "Imagine his face if we returned to the capital with a naked savage. He'd spit up his ale."

The moon was in good form that night, high and full and bright, perfect white. Ethos sat in the grass beneath it, strewn in the fragmented nightshade of Harken. He could hear the distant voices of the clan leaders, an occasional shout or outburst of protest, but he didn't care enough to tune in. He was too immersed in his own concerns to bother himself with stale procedures.

A lotus sprang out of the ground in front of him. Unsurprised, he asked, "How'd you find me?"

Shima joined him. "I followed the scent of your gloominess."

"Gloominess doesn't smell like anything."

"A stink never thinks it stinks."

"Very funny."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm fine."

She rubbed his back. "I didn't raise a liar, did I?"

"Sorry." He sighed a little and said, "Tell me again, Shima."

She didn't have to ask what he meant. The silence that breathed between them was as fresh as the memory. "It was summer," she eventually answered. "I'd been walking for a while, searching for things that weren't there."

"And you heard me?"

"That's right."

"And you were afraid."

Shima's words were quiet and without inflection. "I thought you'd scream," she said. "I thought you'd scream at the sight of my face."

"But I didn't."

"No, you didn't."

Ethos looked up at her. "You're not ugly, Shima."

She was still smiling, but there was something about it— "You were playing in the landing, all by yourself," she remembered. "It was like you'd dropped right out of the sky."

"Is that why they call it the landing?"

Shima nodded. "You smiled when you saw me," she said. "It almost didn't matter that I couldn't understand your language."

"I told you that your eyes were beautiful."

"I'd expected fear." Shima's gaze was a fond one, and wistful. "Fear, disgust… an ordinary child would have run for his life, but you smiled and told me that my eyes were beautiful."

Ethos openly admired their vibrant color. "They are."

"Sweet boy." She plucked a beetle from his hair, ever gentle with those wicked, clawed fingers. Its legs squirmed until she set it down in the grass. "Ludo and I scoured the forest for your family," she went on. "I carried you on my shoulders."

"I remember."

"You sang through most of it," she said. "I'd never seen such a careless creature, so bursting with happy curiosity. It was like you'd popped right into existence and thought to have a little fun."

Ethos stared down at the lotus. "I'm sorry I made you worry today."

She hushed him. "Enough of that."

"The look on your face— "

"Enough, I said. I was being overprotective."

"You were right to be," he murmured. "They're dangerous."

The padded flesh of Shima's palm felt cool against his back. "I'm proud of you for handling it as well as you did," she said. "If it weren't for your slouching I'd have mistaken you for a man."

Ethos didn't argue. "What do you think of the people who left me?"

"I think there's a reason you can't remember them."

"But you think they exist. I mean, they must."

"Ethos, we've talked about this." He could hear the disapproval in her voice. "You're clan," she insisted. "You'll always be clan. You've been clan for longer than you haven't."

Ethos rolled his head back, slightly aslant, to see her. "My life is too short for the atokai," he told her. "I'll age and die and you'll someday forget me. You're a more advanced species."

Concern filled her beautiful eyes. "What brought this on?"

He looked away. "You know."

Shima took up his shoulder and turned him. There was great strength in her hands, more than he'd ever have. Her expression was grave. "You mustn't leave Harken," she said, firmly. "You mustn't. His protection doesn't extend past the tree line." 

The forest stirred. Ethos ignored it. "I can protect myself."

"Ludo was there when you made the pact. He can tell you exactly what it will mean."

Ethos frowned at her. "What pact?"

"You don't remember?"

A menacing shift in the air stopped Ethos short. He was standing before he'd decided to rise. "Get up," he said, heart racing. "Something's wrong."

Shadow fell, drawing his gaze. A bloated column of thick, black smoke was rising out of the trees to the west, slow and impenetrable, at a crawl. "Fire," Shima saw. "There's fire, east."

Ethos quickly glanced behind him. She was staring up at a second column of smoke. Eyes darting, he quietly realized, "We're being surrounded." 

The forest screamed. The sound was partnered throughout the darkness, matched by cries of the atokai clans, and Ethos was no different. His knee gave out and he stooped on the ground, clutching his head to smother the pain.

Someone gave him a shake. Shima. "On your feet. Come on."

He could hardly hear her. "What's happening?"

"Save your questions."

The thickets exploded. A stampede. Foxes and mice, raccoons and coyotes— the frenzy was blind, fleeing in terror, a scrabbling mess of claws and fur and glittering eyes. Shima's reliable warmth was there to shield him from the worst of it. They waited it out together.

Ludo materialized at the edge of the clearing. "With me!" he shouted at them. "Now!"

Ethos obeyed Shima's wordless command and clambered atop her shaggy back, balling up fists of silken gold fur. She took to all fours, a rare sight, and immediately tore after Ludo. They recklessly hurtled into the nightland, charting a course of their own.

The air became thick, and violent firelight dappled the darkness; Ethos could hear things dying in it. The noxious stench had its hand down his throat, filling his lungs with hot, acrid smoke.

Ethos asked where they were going, but the wind blew his words away.

The forest cried out, "Escape! Escape!"

Crows followed overhead.

A stag crashed into them. It screamed, legs thrashing, and Ethos nearly lost his grip when a flailing hoof made excruciating contact. Shima spun and seized its antlers, inhibiting movement until a nearby swell of fire made it bolt in the opposite direction. Ludo barked another command.

The inferno had devoured the forest in truth; awful, how it hungered, untiring. Branches aflame rained down from above, erecting hurdles, impeding progress. Heed Pond was shimmering just out of reach, winking at them from between burning trees, as close as the jojo had been just that morning.

Save for the firestorm, the night had gone eerily silent. The forest spoke not.

Ludo surveyed their burning surroundings, extraordinarily calm. Fire danced in his eyes. "It came from all sides," he said, resigned. "This was no accident."

"Ethos," Shima said. "Get down, please."

Ethos reluctantly slid to the ground, cushioned by soft perpetuities of humus. He coughed into the crook of his elbow. It felt like his skin would split from his frame.

Ludo's expression conveyed a grim truth. "The Heed was our only chance."

Ash coasted through the devastation. The trees popped and crackled. Branches fell. Sparks spit up and hissed in the darkness. Ethos glanced when he felt Shima touch his back again. "Don't be afraid," she said, smiling. "Everything will be okay."

He reached for her. "How can you say that?"

She read his gesture and gathered him up. Her fur was hot to the touch. "I'm sorry."

Ludo silently joined them. Ethos felt crushed between their giant, gentle bodies.

The fire was all-devouring.