were marked by solitary chimneys and crumbling walls, by moss growing over collapsed tables, by books and candleholders and children’s toys disintegrating into the mud. Even if she disliked the humans, it had still broken her heart a little bit. She’d found herself wishing, as she crossed the rotten expanse, that they had gotten out in time.
Her careful feet, a little clumsier because they were human, brought her at last to the edge of the village. The remaining houses were circled up like deer against wolves. Orange light spilled from the windows, pooled on the ground.
Forest floor gave way to stone streets, and Ren tugged her cloak over her hair. Trying to brush it out had only made it bigger, and the pale blue hood barely covered it. Woodsmoke drifted between the houses, and she fought down her fear at the smell.
She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t even really know what she was looking for. If he was still alive, she reasoned, then he would probably have come here, to the village. These humans seemed so afraid of solitude. They built their homes so close together. Leaned upon one another in the streets, huddled together before tiny fires.
The afternoon rain had faded to fog, and the dampness crept into the fabric of the clothes and made her shiver. She passed a house with a cat on the windowsill. It hissed until she looked back at it with feline lynx eyes, and it fell silent. In the room beyond, a family was sitting down to dinner. They called out to the cat, and it jumped down and stalked across the room. Completely unafraid, it curled up near the fire. Eating, speaking, walking, sleeping . . . they were incapable, she thought disdainfully, of being alone.
She watched, feeling contemptuous—and somehow, a little sad—as one of the children knelt down to pet the cat. Even their animals couldn’t be alone. Didn’t like being alone. Ren wondered, oddly wistful, what the cat saw in them. Wondered, very briefly, if she was missing something.
She moved silently along the streets. They weren’t completely unfamiliar. After all, she hadn’t always hated the humans the way she did now. Back when she’d been a child, she’d crept into these streets to look through the windows at night.
And who could blame her? She’d been the only human in a castle of animals. These creatures—these creatures who looked like she had, back then—had fascinated her.
Listening at their windows, she had learned the humans’ language. If anyone had ever seen her, they had never bothered her. They’d probably assumed she was just another orphan, cowering in the dark. Little had they known. One day that little girl would grow claws sharp enough to tear a man to pieces, and she would haunt their dreams with glowing eyes and wicked fangs. She would be called queen by the animals, and they . . . they would call her monster.
No fangs tonight, though.
She wondered where she might find him.
Can I help you? he’d asked.
Best to look for his horse, she thought. It had been so distinctive: antlers mounted on its bridle, with hundreds of other, tinier antlers hanging from the saddle. Were they all from dragons?
She paused by a small garden filled with purple flowers. She ran two fingers around her lips, thinking.
I won’t hurt you, he’d promised.
It made her stomach twist with the same feeling she’d had seeing the cat. She knelt on the damp cobbles, brushing her hand through the flowers. Not twisted in a bad way, exactly . . .
“What are you doing here?”
Ren froze. The voice spoke again.
“Who are you?”
Careful not to move too quickly, Ren looked up. It was a girl, maybe her own age. Her hair and skin were almost identical in color, with freckles scattered over her cheeks. The girl wore very different clothes than the ones Ren had selected: a striped skirt and bright red boots. While Ren wondered if she had chosen the wrong disguise, the girl crouched down.
Ren’s heart began to pound.
“I am—” She could hear her harsh, growling accent as she tried to lie. “I am from the village.”
The girl had deep hollows under her cheekbones. Purple circles swung, like dark moons, under her eyes.
“You’re lying,” said the girl, without any anger. “Why are you stealing flowers?”
Fury flared, and before Ren could stop herself, claws burst out of her fingertips.
“I am not stealing!” she snapped.
Pain seared across her palms as the claws cut into them. She bit her lip