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Their bodies are broad, with russet-red fur hiding what’s clearly a wall of muscle. At first, I think they’re a smaller version of the creature Ruskin fought in Interra—though “small” is a poor way to describe their hulking bodies. But they all sport a pair of wide-set antlers, and when the nearest one lifts its head, I’m pleased to see it has intelligent, mammalian eyes. Nothing like the beast from Interra—more like a bear from back home. But then the ursinian yawns, and its teeth make me rethink my assessment. There definitely seems to be more of them than you’d expect.

“You want me to ride one of those?” I ask stupidly.

“Most of us do,” she says, unlocking the paddock gate and gesturing for me to enter. Which has me wondering what the rest of the players do.

I step cautiously up to the gate, but I don’t go in. A normal reaction to being faced with a pit of bears, I think.

“It’s safe,” she says. “The leathers let them know you’re not prey. You don’t smell right. Unless—you don’t have any food on you, do you?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“Good. Now, get in, walk around. Wait until one makes eye contact with you, then climb up onto its back. It’ll fight for a moment, but hold the antlers tight and eventually it will accept you.”

I blink at the list of instructions. “So I have to convince it to let me ride it?”

“Yes. Otherwise, it will choose the option of goring you to death,” she says impatiently. “Now hurry, it’s not long until the game starts.”

“What about you?”

“Mine’s already in there. She’ll come to me on her own when they open the paddock.”

Before I can spend any more time thinking about it, I step through the gate.

The musk of fifty pelts of thick fur fills my nostrils, along with the distinct meaty breath of carnivores. I move slowly, pushing my way gently past the bears, who are busy sniffing the ground and each other. My heart skitters in my chest, but most of them, to my relief, pay me no attention. Every now and again I need to duck and dodge an ursinian swinging its head—sharp antlers and all—towards me, but it seems to mostly be the result of trying to remove a fly or make space in the crowd.

After a few minutes, relief turns to worry.

“What if none of them make eye contact with me?” I ask Pyromey.

“Then you’re probably an unworthy coward who shouldn’t set foot in the bastet arena,” Pyromey says, examining her nails. There’s a hint of irony there, but her bluntness still reminds me comfortingly of Halima. I try to channel my friend now, putting my shoulders back and staring down the animals, waiting for one to stare back.

Finally, a pair of hazel eyes glare at me.

He’s a decent size—not the biggest, but I was naturally looking around at the smaller ursinian. And even if others are larger, this one has plenty of heft to him. I grimace, thinking of how much I’ve hated every experience riding. Then I step forward, holding his gaze like my eyelids are glued open.

“Hello there,” I murmur, slowly raising my hands.

The ursinian snorts and backs up a few feet.

I try shushing it, but that seems to annoy it more. It makes a rough, huffing sound, on the verge of a roar.

“Now!” Pyromey shouts. “On its back!”

I take a running leap, trying to move too fast for the animal to react. To my surprise, my legs carry me quicker and further than I expect, allowing me to swing one leg up onto the ursinian. But before I can right myself, it makes a noise of guttural rage and starts to rear, shaking its huge antlered head. I risk getting pierced, reaching up to grab hold of one of the spurs. Once my fist is wrapped around one, it’s easier to grab the other side and use what little arm strength I have to haul my body up onto the animal’s back.

It's two front paws hit the earth with a thud, the long claws gouging channels out of the earth. He roars in earnest, but I close my eyes and hold on, waiting for the bucking and rearing to stop.

And it does. Almost as quickly as it started, the ursinian’s noises of rage die down into a curious snuffle. I risk opening my eyes to see the furred head in front of me down to ground, sniffing for something. Food, probably. I tentatively put a hand to its crown, in between where the two antlers sprout. The creature lifts its head for a moment, gives a little shiver, then continues on its business.

“Good,” Pyromey says, indicating for me to climb down.

My ursinian pays me no mind when I dismount, so I take a second to admire the power and build of him.

“There we go, Parsley,” I say, patting his thick haunch. “We’re going to get through this, you and I.”

“Parsley?” Pyromey asks in disbelief as I exit the paddock and she closes the gate behind me.

I shrug. “It’s after another brave steed I know,” I say, letting her lead me back to the arena. One day, I’ll be able to tell my friend Sanna how I named a ferocious fae bear after her family donkey. But until then, I have a game to survive.