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Those two I can block out, but Clover talks in her sleep yet again.

Like a fool, I strain to listen, wondering if my name will pass her lips. Unfortunately, I can’t make out a word she says.

Pressing my hands over my ears, I growl to myself. I’m trying so hard to block out Clover, I almost miss the strange shuffling noise coming from the forest below. I go still, straining to hear it once more.

It was only the horses, I decide after several quiet minutes.

I clench my eyes shut and adjust my shoulders on the unforgiving rock, determined to find sleep like the rest of the group.

A startled whinny sounds from below, followed by the cries of our other horses, and my eyes fly open.

“What was that?” Clover demands, her voice stiff and scratchy from being startled awake.

“I’ll check,” I murmur, silently slipping from my bedroll and taking my sword with me. “Stay here.”

As usual, Clover ignores me and follows me to the side of the cliff. We drop to our knees, peering over the edge.

Clover inhales sharply when she sees the shadowed monster below us. The aynauth is smaller than the last we encountered, thankfully five or six feet shorter than the outcrop we’re camped upon. But he’s tall enough he could possibly climb up if he were to spot us.

Quickly, I pull Clover back, pressing us flat to the cold stone so we’re out of view.

“Did iteatthe horses?” she whispers near my ear, horrified. “Is that what we heard?”

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought.

“I didn’t see them,” I assure her. “They likely broke free and took off.”

“What do we do?”

We could fight it…but it’s dark, and it has the advantage right now.

“We’ll stay quiet,” I tell her. “There’s nothing for it here. It will get bored and wander off soon.”

A strange snuffling noise fills the air no sooner than I say the words—the aynauth sniffing the breeze. Clover rolls to me, her eyes wide. At a bare whisper, she hisses, “Does itsmellPranmore?”

“What’s that noise?” Bartholomew suddenly says, waking from a dead sleep. His voice echoes in the night—loud and clear. “Henrik, where are you?”

That’s all it takes to get the beast’s attention. It roars, shockingly loud in the quiet hours, and a massive taloned paw appears at the top of the outcrop.

Clover and I scramble back as the monster searches the ledge, just out of reach. She grasps my arm, and her fingers dig into my bicep. For a minute, I’m afraid she’s going to climb up my shoulder like a cat.

I frantically wave my hand at Bartholomew, demanding he stay quiet. If Pranmore’s awake, he’s playing dead, which is truly his only defense.

Bartholomew’s eyes grow large with recognition, and he goes mute.

The beast shuffles around the ledge for a while, and then it grows bored, perhaps mistaking Bartholomew for a squawking bird. After it’s been silent for a few minutes, Clover releases her death grip on my arm. She breathes hard and presses a hand to her chest as if trying to convince her heart to slow to its usual rate.

“Sorry,” Bartholomew mouths.

“Is it still down there?” Clover whispers.

We listen for several seconds, and then I nod. “It sounds like it.”

A funny noise then catches my attention. “Stay here,” I command—pointing at Clover to make sure she knows I mean it this time.

She nods, reluctantly letting me go.

I creep to the ledge, staying low on my stomach, and peer over. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and I can make out the monster well enough in the dim light. He sits on the ground like a young child, furry legs straightened in front of him in a V. He’s leaning over something and looking at it quite intently.