"Eyes were a little bigger, I reckon."

"Aye, and the headfur, was higher, you know? Bunched up."

"Torch the headfur – make sure you get the teeth right, eh?"

"Like that thing had chewed somebody up. Must've been blood."

"Brickle's?"

"How we gonna know?"

Kappsi put the piece of charcoal down and pressed two clenched paws against her eyes as the twins jabbered over her shoulders. On the table in front of her lay a thick sheet of bark paper where she'd done her best to draw the thing from the tunnels, but it had been so dark – so sudden – that none of them could fully agree on what they saw.

And it turned out that her brothers fancied themselves as formidable art critics. Kappsi tried to incorporate their recommendations, touching up the lines of the thing on the page, but she focused on the mouth. That was the one part she really remembered; the snapping teeth coming for her throat, and the crimson stains that still haunted her eyes. She was hardly an expert, but the drawing was passable enough for their purposes. Besides, she couldn't listen to much more speculation about what that ... thing might have done to her best friend.

She took a deep breath and turned in the chair.

"You two finished?" she asked, glancing pointedly from one to the other.

Haarm opened his mouth to speak but Skoppa elbowed him in the ribs to keep him quiet. He shot her a beaming smile and raised the tankard in his free paw in a mock toast.

"Nice work, little sis."

She swept up the drawing as she stood, fixing him with a baleful eye. "I'm taller than you."

"It ain't supposed to be literal."

"C'mon – we got some asking around to do." Kappsi stepped between her brothers, out of the dingy corner of the bar they'd found themselves. "We can't be the only unlucky souls in this damn place to have run across that thing."

The twins didn't argue. Skoppa drained the last of his tankard and dumped it on the table before twisting to follow her, Haarm hot on his tail. The three of them stepped out into the sweltering midday heat that engulfed Whaveloda's market quarter, where the early morning rain had given way to blazing sunshine, smothering the city. Kappsi longed to leap into the nearest canal to cool off, feeling her fur becoming slick from the haze, but she forced herself to ignore the discomfort as they started working their way through the stalls and shops.

It didn't take long for her to get very, very frustrated. Most of the kin they spoke to gave them nothing more than shrugs and blank stares. Some waved them away impatiently, not wanting to waste time with anyone who wasn't a paying customer. A handful of workshop and stall owners tried to hazard guesses, but none of them proved particularly useful, ranging from mutated rats from the sewer system to demons from the southern wilds. No-one knew anything.

Kappsi stomped along grimly, and behind her Skoppa and Haarm could sense her blackening mood, keeping their playful banter to a minimum as they worked their way through the market.

The trio turned left down a narrow, clustered alleyway, well lit and jammed full of small shops. The den stacks climbed four stories on either side, the outer mud-brick and ceramic walls haphazardly bolted with ladders, ropes and flimsy-looking gantries. There were even a few bridges spanning the gulf overhead.

After four more useless encounters, the three otterkin entered a bookshop – a homely place decorated with dark wood, with a fireplace crackling merrily and incense smoking the air. A young deerkin shopkeeper leaned on the sales counter by the door, head propped up on one paw while the other held open a book bound in cured and lacquered barkhide. Her eyes flickered up briefly as the trio ambled past, before returning to the text.

They took a few steps into the shop, before stopping, frozen with indecision. Kappsi wasn't much of a reader, truth be told, and when faced with the tightly packed shelves of books, she had no idea where to start. She glanced awkwardly down at the drawing, then scanned the spines, looking for some spark of inspiration. Behind her the twins shuffled awkwardly from paw to paw, just as out of their depth.

"Something I can help you find?" the shopkeeper chimed in, a faint hint of amusement in her otherwise melodious voice.

"Err, I... yeah, maybe," Kappsi stuttered.

She glanced at her brothers; Skoppa shrugged and motioned with his head towards the deerkin. Gulping down her hesitation, Kappsi stepped over, unfolding the crumpled sheet of barkpaper and laying it out on the counter. "We were trying to find some information on a..." words pin-balled around in her brain before she eventually blurted out, "a thing that looks like this."

The deerkin recoiled slightly, brow rising in surprise as she stared at the drawing. Gathering herself, she smoothed her glossy dark headfur down between her antlers and cleared her throat.

"What kind of information were you looking for?" she asked.

"I'm not... well, not exactly sure." Kappsi grimaced, knowing how unhelpful her words must have sounded. "The three of us saw one. It's not like anything I've seen in Whaveloda before so we were trying to find out if anyone else had seen it too."

"You saw this in Whaveloda?"

"Aye, in a disused service tunnel," Haarm grunted.

"Is it wild? Not kin?" The deerkin pointed towards the far corner of the shop. "We have a nature and herblore section at the back that might be helpful."

Kappsi shook her head. "I don't think a wildlife guide is what we're looking for."

"You seen something like this before?" Haarm continued. "Your eyes went right bright at the sight of it."

"Oh, well, I've never seen something like this in person, no." The shopkeeper rapped a paw gently on her counter top in thought. "It does look a bit familiar though. I'm not sure where from..." She hesitated for a moment, then reached out for the drawing. "May I?"

"Please yourself." Kappsi spread her paws invitingly. The deerkin picked up the picture, squinted at it for a moment, then stepped around from the counter. She was slim, her thin body enveloped in a loose-fit black bodywrap and a wispy longkilt, hooves protruding from beneath it and clopping lightly on the shop's wooden floor.

Face pinched in thought, the shopkeeper began moving through the bookshelves, glancing periodically at the drawing. After a few minutes she tugged a small, flimsy-looking volume off of one shelf.

"I think..." she began, leafing through the pages of the book. "Ah, yes! This is the one." Stepping back over to them she handed it to Kappsi, open at a page halfway through. "This looks about the same, doesn't it?"

Kappsi looked at the book, not quite sure what to expect. On the left page was a block of text, but the right was filled by an illustration – an artist's rendering of something that looked eerily similar to their red-toothed attacker.

"Peace, that looks about right," Skoppa muttered. "What is that book?"

Kappsi turned it to look at the cover.

Her heart sank.

"Battleclans, book three – The Depths of the Doom Temple," she sighed. "It's a bloody adventure story. It's fiction."

"I'm afraid so." The deerkin gave her an apologetic look. "Some of our bestsellers these – a bit lurid but they're a good romp."

Haarm groaned. "So we saw something from some cub's fairy story?"

"The author did a lot of research when writing these," the shopkeeper said quickly, as though she didn't want to disappoint them. "There could be some historical basis for that drawing."

"Don't suppose you know what that might be?"

"Not exactly, but this book is set in a forgotten temple that was supposedly built by the Clerics of the Great Peace. Perhaps a cleric may be able to help?"

It sounded like a long shot, but so far it was the best lead they'd found. Kappsi held up her drawing of their attacker alongside the illustration, looking from one to the other for several seconds. Although the one from the novel was certainly more detailed and expertly coloured, the similarities were plain enough. It was a start.

"Better than nothing I guess." She snapped the book shut and held it up. "How much?"

***

Once they'd shelled out fifteen copper barkstamps for the book, the deerkin shopkeeper directed them to a nearby chapel in the market. Kappsi lingered outside it, clutching her purchase tightly in one paw as she looked up at the building. The chapel was a two-storey cube, and unlike most of the buildings in Wildhearth's outer spirals, made of grey, polished stone – more expensive and solid than the woods, clays and ceramics. Each corner of the cube bulged out, fitted with an outsized block of black marble, each one carved with passages of text from the Peaceworks – she had no idea which volumes these had been extracted from though.

Vague memories crystallised at the sight though, of attending services in her younger days. Brickle had been there with her – their families part of a close-knit lodge – and allowing the mischievous pair to sit side by side had ensured very little of the clerics' teachings had had a lasting impact. Those were good times. Kappsi didn't remember the sermons, but she remembered the giggling chatter she and her friend had exchanged before being hushed by the preacher's stentorian roar.

Then they'd grown up. The docks had called to them and as adults they'd never had cause to bother with the dryness of the clerics. As real life took hold, they'd relied on each other instead of abstract words that their practical minds couldn't get a hold of.

She said a silent prayer to the Peace for Brickle anyway, just in case.

"Can smell the dust from here," Skoppa grunted, wrinkling his nose. "Don't look like class is in session."

"Good." Kappsi clapped him on the arm. "Let's go." Despite the new lead, she braced herself for disappointment once again and walked forward, placing a paw gently against the heavy, reinforced door of the chapel and pushing it open.

A pleasant coolness washed over her as she stepped into the chapel, the gentle scent of burning incense swirling in the air. The main room mirrored the outside of the structure, forming a big, high-ceilinged cube, warmly lit by crackling braziers that lined the walls.

The centre of the room was dominated by a raised central hearth in the shape of an octagon, upon which stood a plain wooden lectern. She could see one of the heavy, blue-bound tomes of the Peaceworks sitting on it, closed for now, meditating in the quiet. Eight smaller hearths surrounded it, each one with a small fire flickering at its centre. Cushions and blankets had been strewn liberally across the cold stone floor to provide comfort for those attending the teaching services, but for the moment they remained empty.

As the noise of Wildhearth faded to a background muffle, Kappsi stepped forward across the cold flagstones of the chapel, the pad of her footpaws now sounding awkwardly loud in the empty space. She was about to call out to see if anyone was actually here, when a lithe figure slipped into view from a doorway on the right of the main chamber. The rising bush of a tail marked the newcomer out as a quillkin.

When the hood of the grey robe was swept back, it revealed someone younger than Kappsi had expected – a male quillkin who looked to be in his prime years, fur glossy red and eyes bright. A short ridge of white headfur was swept back between his sharp-pointed ears. He looked at them and a breezy smile crossed his face.

"Good afternoon," the cleric said in a voice like an autumn breeze, dipping his head to them.

"Afternoon," Kappsi replied automatically.

"Welcome to my chapel. I am Preacher Olarmun." He made a slow gesture to the empty chamber. "As you can see our teachings are not currently in session. There is another seminar at darkone, if you wished to attend. Unless you're here for something else...?"

"Aye, something else, Preacher," Haarm confirmed, nudging Kappsi. "Show him."

Clearing her throat, Kappsi shuffled forward, book in one paw and drawing in the other. "Sorry to impose on your time, but we were hoping you could take a look at something for us." She held them out to him. "Do these pictures mean anything to you?"

An intrigued frown crinkled the cleric's brow as he reached. When he turned them round and looked his frown deepened. He looked from paper to book for a moment, then his eyes flickered up to her.

"What, precisely, are you trying to find out?" he asked. His voice stayed calm, but she could tell that something in the drawings had struck a chord with the quillkin.

"We were in a tunnel under the district yesterday," Skoppa elaborated. "Just lookin' around, and we ran slap bang into this thing."

"Excuse me?"

"We were attacked," Kappsi told him. "By... this. I've never seen anything like it in Wildhearth. We're trying to figure out just what we ran into down there before it hurts someone else."

"And you didn't go to the watchguards?"

"We..." She hesitated for an instant as she decided whether or not to lie to the preacher, before waving a dismissive paw. "We tried, but they laughed it off – like we're chasing ghosts."

"Some would say that they are correct."

"And what would you say?"

Olarmun handed her the book and paper. "Wait here a moment."

In an instant the cleric disappeared back through the door he'd entered, leaving the three otterkin standing awkwardly in the empty chamber. Listening intently, Kappsi could hear the sound of scuffling paper, the scrape of chair legs on stone and the odd grunt of effort. She exchanged dubious looks with the twins, but they waited patiently for whatever the cleric was doing. After hours of wasted time, it at last looked like they'd found someone who could shed some light on the beast in the tunnels.

At length, the quillkin poked his head out from the adjoining corridor again and beckoned them. "Come this way please."

Wordlessly they obeyed, filing into the narrow stone passage behind him. The short corridor opened out into an office of some kind with a small curved desk, an oak chair and a few tall, narrow book cases stuffed with volumes of the Peaceworks. As well those central texts, the cleric had a collection of scholarly writings, and historical works from the look of them.

On the table were her drawing and the novel. Beside them a much larger tome lay open on a stand. It looked ancient, its paper crinkled like old style parchment rather than the tough, treated bark-paper that made up new publications. The cover was worn and faded, one black and carved with a title that Kappsi couldn't even read. However, none of those details mattered once she saw what was on the open page.

Another drawing of the creature.

The proportions were a little wonky owing to the ancient style of the artwork, but it was clear enough to her. A leaping creature that looked like some kind of weird mash of vulkin, wolfkin and felkin snarled from the page, oversized claws raised high, a gaping mouth inked in scarlet dominating the centre of the image. Annotations in cursive script surrounded it, and the opposite page presented an opaque wall of text.

"This is a very old volume," the cleric began as he sat down, gesturing to the book. "It's been passed down through the clerics in this chapel for several generations. Its writing dates back to before the founding of Wildhearth, when our people were still emerging into the light of the Great Peace."

Haarm let out a faint whistle of appreciation.

"Now, where did you say you encountered your monster?"

"Down near the docks," Kappsi told him. "One of my friends is missing. We were looking for her."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"We found an abandoned hatch. We went in to look, and this thing attacked us in the dark."

"And you are absolutely sure this is what you saw?" Olarmun asked, tapping one claw against the illustration in his book. An edge of tension had now crept into his placid tone.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Kappsi could feel a lump of pure dread rising in her throat. The quillkin looked to her brothers who both nodded their agreement. His eyes narrowed.

"By the Peace." The quillkin shook his head grimly, slumping in his high-backed chair and staring at the illustration in his tome. "This is interesting... and deeply concerning."

"You know what it is?" she blurted, her desperation beginning to boil over.

"I believe so, though it is largely thought to have been a myth."

"Err... who's myth?" Skoppa ventured nervously.

"From the time of the Savage Fire." Sighing, the cleric steepled his claws together on his lap, his gaze fixed on the drawing as he spoke. "When the Peace first came to us, it was not an easy transition. Long before Wildhearth, before our cities and our civilisation, there was great upheaval. Our ancestors lived as brute animals for uncounted millennia, and not all were able to let go so easily. Some distrusted the Peace. Some could not comprehend a life without blood and ruin. So much so that they fought to keep it."

"Don't remember that lesson from the teachers," Haarm chuckled nervously.

"It is a time most would rather forget," he replied. "And with good reason. Acts of barbarism were rife in the land. Records of those days are ... incomplete, but we know there were great battles between those who embraced the Peace, and those who would not."

Unease crawled up Kappsi's spine. She gulped and inclined her head to the book. "So how does our fanged friend fit into things?"

"This is an account from a travelling merchant, chronicled by one of the founding preachers of the Peace," Olarmun said. "It details her visit to one of the early settlements, before the great cities we know today. The kin there had been terrorised by bloodthirsty raids for weeks. The merchant and her guards heard the story and resolved to protect the village. They stayed, waiting for the next attack."

"Brassy of them," Haarm murmured.

The cleric smiled thinly. "Or perhaps foolhardy. When night came they found themselves set upon by a beast more vicious than they had ever encountered. Several guards were killed and the merchant barely escaped with her life to tell this story to my predecessors. What they described is eerily similar to what you've shown me here."

Kappsi could feel her hackles rising. "Preacher, what did we see?"

"It is impossible to tell fact from legend, if I am being frank, but if stories like these are to be believed, the most feared servants of the Savage Fire called themselves the Crimson Teeth. They were hunters – monsters – of a dead age who lived for nothing but the kill. The atrocities they supposedly perpetrated scared many cubs to sleep for centuries."

"Bloody tides and Fire," Skoppa swore. "You're telling me there's some ancient killing machine loose in the tunnels under our damned paws?!"

"So it would seem." Preacher Olarmun looked Kappsi in the eye, his eyes like steel. "If this is indeed what you saw in the tunnels, then there is greater danger in Wildhearth than any of us realise."