No-one could conclusively decide on a term for the humanoid monsters that lived in the outlawed patches of the desert, far outside the city's haven. Feralite was the word most commonly hissed, clicked out in harsh whispers and coupled with the murky swirl of fear and hatred. Hybrid was perhaps the most accurate term; their features were an unpredictable concoction of ordinary and strange, human and beast, though no exact pattern could be drawn from the few sightings Raya's people had recorded of them. Beastfolk was the word she herself chose. It felt tamer than Feralite, heavier than hybrid. It conjured the image of someone almost a person but not quite.

It didn't matter what they were called, in the end. The thought of them oozed with danger. Very few escaped an encounter with one of the beastfolk and lived, not without an organised hunting party and honed, magical skill.

Raya had neither of those. She should run, yet her feet fastened themselves to the hard sand, her legs quivering yet stuck.

The boy laid before her didn't look dangerous.

He was, without doubt, not human. His skin was fair in a way that only existed in lands far from Tehazibith, places only drawn from myth, though more lightly browned than the milky white she'd seen was possible in those old legends. His hair was whiter. It fell in long, drooping bangs that stuck to his cheeks in a matted mix of sweat and blood, coloured a starchy, bleached yellow in the places blood didn't stain it. But the most startling feature was the jagged pair of antlers that sprouted from within that mess of hair, stuck out at jagged angles and sharp at their tips.

The single, long sheet of cloth thrown over his body was red, making it difficult to tell just how many wounds he bled from. It seemed as if the crimson was everywhere, pooling in the sand, rivulets trickling lazily towards her. She watched them soak in, her stomach giving a sour squeeze like a sponge wringing out.

"Hello?" she whispered.

Her voice emerged as hardly a breath, but it still made her cringe. She felt stupid. The quiet always made her voice sound stupid, but softly greeting a supposed creature of doom and destruction couldn't have been anyone's idea of wise.

It didn't particularly matter regardless. The guard was too far away and preoccupied to hear her, and the beastfolk boy didn't stir. The only sign of life left in him at all was the irregular drag of air rasping in and out of his lungs. His blood gleamed bright in the sun, a claggy mirage settling atop it that vaguely reflected a burning ball of yellow.

Raya was sure she was moving in a dream. She edged around the spreading pool, then sunk into a crouch beside his head. He didn't so much as twitch. His face was angular, but youthful, visible in the smoothness of his skin. Eighteen, maybe seventeen. A couple years younger than she was. If that was how hybrid ageing worked.

The silence felt predatory.

She cast a nervous glance around, hands caught in constant motion as they tapped at her thigh, her knee, the waiting air itself. Those clawed hands she'd seen flickered in the back of her mind, and fear sank rows of little teeth into the back of her neck. Did the beastfolk fight one another? Were they truly that uncivilised, that devoid of self-control and blind with aggression? But if so, why come so close to the city's borders to do so, and why leave one of their own behind?

Unless a mage had done this. But a mage would have finished the job.

Which was exactly what Raya should be doing, right now.

There shouldn't even be much to think about. Breathing shallowly, she reached for her pouch, her fingers jittering so much she could hardly flick it open. The dust shied away from her touch, sensing her fear, her hesitance, the swirling storm of doubt that swept through her in shivering cascades.

Maybe he could scent her ill intent, or maybe her shakes were so bad they'd begun to rattle her bones in musical fashion, but the boy finally shifted. His eyes writhed beneath his eyelids, then bunched tighter shut, a low, groaning whimper trickling out. There was nothing inhuman about that. He just sounded like a boy, barely full-grown, burdened by pain.

He was dying already, and at a rapid rate. She didn't even need to do anything. She could simply walk away, banish him from her memory, and let him die on his own.

Raya's hand dropped. The silence heaved around her, goading her on. The boy's breath hitched.

But if he died, all the answers he might hold would die with him.

The desert, formerly stiff and motionless as a corpse, let out a deep sigh, a breath of wind whipping up to swirl the sand and blow a few inky strands of hair into Raya's face. Gritty specs assaulted her ankles and slipped through the cracks in her shoes. The breeze dropped away as abruptly as it began, but the storm beneath her skin refused to cease, a hot-cold flurry that rose thickly to the back of her throat. She swallowed, hard. Sand mixed in with the boy's hair, speckling his antlers like a faded wave of gold-encrusted glints.

It occurred to her, in a thundering rumble that clouded her thoughts, spread cool shade across them, that this was a choice. Her choice, a chance to determine a fork of her fate. She could fade again, become that ghost she pretended she wasn't, or she could wrap her hands around something solid. She could live through more than simple tricks and slippery specs of magic, but she would have to decide.

She touched two fingers to the boy's soft, pale cheek, the one not so terribly stained and dripping with thick crimson. His breathing whistled. The bitter tang of blood seized her senses regardless, wrapping her tongue in metal and the sickening twist of death. He hadn't much time left.

Decide, and decide now.

She withdrew her hand and seized a pinch of dust.

The hasty action thrust it out all wrong, spreading unevenly so that it settled mostly over his bleeding face. Raya's fingertips twitched an ungainly dance. She yanked at it, a sharp tug in her gut digging in like a stab wound numbed by some herbal remedy, thinking of white and pale, pale things and empty sand.

She was glad she hadn't gathered much of the stuff. The moment a few specs settled in the wide gash clawed into his face, he gasped, then cried out, the sound rippling out around them enough to make her flinch. Panic surged noisily in the thud of her heart, and she clamped a hand over his mouth, shoving her palm hard to seal in any more sound. Her other hand dragged backwards through the air. The dust jerked outward, fleeing and scattering in the sand.

The boy whimpered again, just faintly, dropping sluggishly into silence as his feeble squirms seized. "Sorry," Raya murmured in a rush. "I'm so sorry." Her chest heaved so fiercely she struggled to keep quiet herself.

Another pair of voices popped into existence, rubbing up against her ears. Close by.

This was the problem with impulse, with quick decision making. There was never time to think, and then she only made a mess. She withdrew her hand in a hurry and surveyed him, jittering all over, frenzied fear tearing her focus to ribbons.

The voices leered closer, almost collecting into audible words. No time. There was still no time, even less time. She had to do something. Don't flail.

The spell. She'd tried to cast enough to render all of him invisible, but if her power wasn't strong enough for that, then she could settle for a smaller area. That was something she knew, something plausible. Palms cupping, she called the splayed dust back, then flipped her hands around and tossed it with a fragile attempt at precision. White lightning flashed at the edges of her vision. There wasn't time to check whether it had worked. Bent at the knees, she thrust her arms around him, then shoved to her feet and whirled just in time.

Two men rounded the corner, both black-haired and casually armed, their chatter instantly cutting short the moment they laid eyes on her. One fumbled over his knife in surprise, dropping it at his feet as he folded into a hasty bow. The other—a peer she knew as Zayd—stared at her, a frown snagging his thick eyebrows. "Miss?"

Raya couldn't make herself speak. The hybrid boy was heavy in her arms, straining in her shoulders enough to ball an ache in each of them. She hugged him closer to her chest, taut as a wire and braced for trouble, waiting to be caught. A thin smile flickered to her lips in flimsy protection.

Zayd gave his friend's arm a parting pat and dashed forward, gaze roaming anxiously: first over her face, then behind her, slicing every shadow. The white sheen of his ivory blade flashed as he lifted it. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

Her head shook in a daze. "I'm fine," she said, then jerked her chin at the boy, using the opportunity to flick a proper glance down at him. She kept relief's sigh clenched behind her teeth, but it trickled like soothing rain through her veins, a calming flow. Only her power provided her with the vague tug of something that wasn't there. To the naked eye, all that could be seen was mussed, blood-splattered hair. A strange colour, but colour was easier to dismiss than the antlers her dust kept hidden.

"The blood is all his," she said. "He was mutilated by the beasts during the breach. He needs my help."

Confusion clearly fluttered in Zayd's eyes as he let his own gaze fall to the boy, but he said nothing more. His nod was obedient. He stepped aside, gesturing to his companion to do the same. "Of course. Is there any assistance I can—"

"None required," Raya said, aware of time's continued march, of the sticky warmth steadily soaking into her dress. She couldn't linger. "Thank you, but I'll handle this myself. Leave me be."

Perhaps that came off harsher than she meant it, for Zayd jerked, eyes flashing wide as if he were wounded. His knife fell limply to his side as he bowed his head. "Of course," he repeated, stiff and simple.

Before she could gather any words that might have remedied his sour mood, he shouldered past her, with his friend quick to follow suit. Breathing out, Raya did her best to dismiss him and broke into her own swift stride. A wince cut through her chest regardless. Zayd was a frequent sparring partner of her brother's. Still, she'd surely see him again soon, and she could apologise then, pin it all on stress and watch any sign of a grudge drain away like none of it mattered. Men always forgave her, regardless of her mistakes or the effect they had. She could never tell whether the undying admiration in their eyes and their voices was genuine. It was tradition, and so it happened, whether it were fake or not.

But tradition was an odd thing to muse upon with a child of the beastfolk cradled against her chest, flesh warm with the life that still pulsed within him despite the rivers of it that gushed out. If he lived, not a soul in Tehazibith would grace her with forgiveness.

Yet her choice was made.

Her sleeves rode roughly up her arms so that a startling amount of his skin touched hers. He was damp, feverish. She bent her head.

"I'll save you," she murmured, surprised at the surety in her voice. "I vow that, just as long as you tell me what I want to know."

Just as long as no-one else found out.

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