Alex's fingers froze in midair, mere millimeters from the cold, slick, blood-streaked dark-silver pelt. Her heart hammered in her chest, striking her ribs as if trying to break out. Time seemed to crystallize in that instant; cold rain mixed with mud and grit pelted the slag heap, producing a nerve-jangling sound.
That dense, dark-silver lash had indeed fluttered! So slight, so fleeting it could have been an illusion, but under the razor-fine tension of Alex's nerves it registered as clear as thunder. Fear seized every fiber of her being; her blood felt as if it had frozen. She jerked her hand back and her body trembled from the strain; the iron rod she'd been using to probe the ground clattered onto the wet, slippery rubble.
"Oh no— it's awake! It's going to rip me apart!"
That thought wrapped around her mind like an ice-cold snake. She scrambled backward on hands and knees, desperately widening the gap between herself and the slag hollow, her back slamming hard into a rough chunk of ore—she barely felt the pain. Her eyes stayed glued to that narrow gap and the massive, terrifying shape within.
She held her breath, waiting for the anticipated furious roar, waiting for the beast to lunge.
But… nothing happened.
The hollow remained deathly silent. Apart from the wind and sand and rain, only the beast's faint, labored breath could be heard. Its huge body stayed curled and motionless, as if the flutter of its eyelash had indeed been nothing but Alex's terror playing tricks on her.
Seconds ticked by. The cold rain kept soaking Alex, stealing the little body heat she had left and making her teeth chatter uncontrollably. Under the double assault of fear and cold, she regained a scrap of rationality.
It hadn't attacked. Why?
Was it too badly injured to even lift its head?
Or… did it somehow sense she meant no harm?
Alex's gaze returned to the hideous wound. Rain and grit mercilessly washed at the flayed flesh, exposing a pale, jagged bone that gleamed in the dim light. Every faint breath tugged at that terrible tear, causing involuntary spasms. The creature's life was bleeding out of that enormous body.
That whisper-thin exhale echoed in her head again. This wasn't the fragile little hawk she'd once rescued—it was a beast that could freeze anyone with dread—but in its dying weakness the animal's fragility hit an even deeper, more tender chord inside her: the one called "I can't leave this being to die."
"I can't just stand by and watch it die…" Alex murmured, her voice trembling but edged now with grim resolve. She inhaled a sharp lungful of the cold air, heavy with blood, dust, and rain, and forced herself to think clearly.
It was bleeding too much, losing heat to the rain and open wound; if not treated quickly, infection or internal damage would finish it. Her first-aid kit only had basic dressings and bandages—hardly sufficient in this environment. The only hope was moving it somewhere safer, somewhere sheltered from wind and rain, where she could try to do more.
The idea was madness. This beast, even near death, was vast; how could a fairly average-strength botanist move such a creature across steep, slick, disorienting abandoned mine terrain?
But staring at the creature's fading breath, Alex had no choice. She couldn't leave it here to die.
"Hey! Listen!" she forced out, mustering courage, her voice thin and weird against the storm. "I don't know if you can understand me, but I'm going to help you! I need to get close to treat your wound. I… I mean you no harm—please don't bite me!"
She kept watching the shadowed hollow. The beast gave no further reaction; only the rasp of its breath proved it still lived. Maybe that was assent—or perhaps it was simply too weak to react.
Alex crept closer again, moving slower and more cautiously, ready to pull back at any instant. She picked up the iron rod again—not to attack, but as a brace and, if necessary, a last-resort defense.
At last she crouched at the hollow's edge. The rank smell of blood and animal musk turned her stomach, but she forced herself to steady her hands. She picked up the largest sterile dressing, held her breath, and gently pressed it over the most gruesome part of the tear that ran from shoulder to flank. The dressing soaked instantly with pouring blood, turning a garish red, but it at least blocked some of the grime and the rain.
Next she retrieved the roll of canvas strap. Designed for load-bearing and gear fastening, it looked laughably small against the beast's bulk and that savage wound. She worked clumsily to unroll and extend it, attempting to loop it around the chest and belly. That required getting closer—almost to the cold, damp pelt.
And then everything changed in an instant.
The beast's tightly shut eyes flew open!
What eyes they were! Even in the hollow's dim light they burned like twin pools of molten gold. Vertical pupils like knives locked onto Alex, barely inches away. A visceral, apex-predator terror—real and palpable—pierced her soul. She could even see her own terrified, distorted face reflected in those golden eyes.
"ROAR—!" A low, hoarse bellow, thick with pain and ferocity, thundered up from the beast's throat. It jerked its head up; the motion was slow and deformed by pain, but its huge, blood-smeared maw gaped, revealing white, razor-sharp fangs, only inches from Alex's throat.
The hot, metallic stench of blood hit her in the face.
"Ah—!" Alex screamed, falling backward as if her soul had flown free; she clawed and scrambled away, heart nearly bursting from her chest. It was over— it had woken! It was going to attack!
But the expected pounce never came. The beast only managed to lift its head, let out that roar, and seemed to have exhausted itself. Its molten gold pupils remained fixed on Alex, full of wariness and pain—and something else Alex couldn't read, like offended fury. It tried to stand, but the massive body only convulsed; the movement dragged at the terrible wound and fresh blood soaked the dressing. It let out a more anguished whine and flopped its head back down onto its forepaws. The glow in its eyes dimmed; only heavy, blood-tinged gasps remained.
It was too weak—too weak even to maintain a threatening posture.
Alex collapsed into the cold mud, drenched and panting. That jolt had nearly cost her her life. She watched the beast sink back into a partly stunned state; its molten gaze half-closed, wary and in pain, a low growling rumble caught in its throat.
It wouldn't let her get near the deep wound. That seemed to violate some kind of instinctive taboo.
Alex realized: the creature had a powerful territorial instinct and a fierce protectiveness over its chest and belly. Her attempt to loop the strap around its torso had been perceived as a grave threat.
What could she do? The wound had to be treated or it would die soon—but getting closer was like dancing on the edge of death.
Her eyes darted to the first-aid kit, then to the mud-soaked canvas strap on the ground, and finally back to those hostile yet helpless golden eyes. An audacious, almost absurd idea took shape in her mind.
"Listen," Alex said again, her voice steadier despite the pounding in her chest. "I know you don't want me touching you, but I have to stop the bleeding—or you'll die." She pointed at the blood-soaked dressing, then at herself, then at the surroundings. "I need to move you somewhere safer, but first we have to stem the blood."
The beast's rumbling grew louder; its golden eyes watched her, full of distrust.
Alex took a deep breath and made a decision. Slowly—very slowly—she placed the iron rod, tip outward, across a wet rock between them. Then she unfastened her pack's shoulder strap and nudged the canvas pack—her food, water, and vital survival gear—so it came to rest beside the iron rod.
"This… as collateral?" she said, pointing to the pack and then to herself. "I won't touch your vitals. I'll only bandage what you let me. If I hurt you, you can shred this stuff." Her tone was half coaxing, half helpless.
She had no idea whether this creature could grasp such complex human logic, but she had to try. She gambled that it had intelligence beyond the ordinary beast; she gambled it understood "exchange" and "good faith."
Time crawled in the storm. The beast's half-lidded golden eyes shifted slowly between Alex, the rod, and the pack. The low rumble in its throat eased a bit; the raw aggression seemed to withdraw. Finally, almost imperceptibly, it turned its massive head slightly aside, exposing more of the neck and flank—there were also tears there, but not as critical as the chest and belly. It closed its eyes and stopped staring at Alex, as if consenting—or as if surrendering to exhaustion.
Alex's heart missed a beat. Had it… actually understood? Or was it simply too weak to resist?
Whatever the reason, the chance was there.
She didn't hesitate. This time she moved with greater care and speed. She first dressed less critical wounds on the neck and along the spine, covering them with padding, then began to wrap the canvas strap as best she could around the beast's torso while trying to avoid the chest area. When the canvas ran out she tore strips from her spare clothing and used them as bandaging. The whole time her heart lurched in her throat as she watched every twitch. The beast kept its eyes closed, body shaking with pain and occasionally making low, tortured noises, but it did not raise its head or show further aggression.
By the time she tied the last knot, Alex was nearly spent—sweat and rain soaked through her clothes. Major bleeding points were temporarily covered. It was crude, but better than leaving them exposed to wind and sand. The creature looked like an ancient war beast clumsily wrapped in battle bandages—mangled but still imposing in a tragic, almost noble way.
Night had fallen completely. The storm had lessened slightly but not stopped. Darkness, thick as ink, swallowed the abandoned mine. Temperatures plummeted. Alex watched the beast shiver from blood loss and cold and knew she couldn't wait any longer.
She had to get it someplace sheltered—or they would both freeze to death, or be swallowed by some other unseen danger.
Her eyes moved to the heavy pack and the stout iron rod. A rough drag plan formed in her head. She would loop the pack strap under the beast's relatively intact hind leg and around the front chest to make a crude sling. It would require enormous strength and cunning.
As she worked the strap under the forelimb, the beast that had been enduring in silence suddenly snapped its molten gaze open again—this time filled not only with pain or wariness but with a searing, soul-rattling fury and warning.
It didn't look at Alex. It twisted its head and fixed its snarling muzzle on the dark, rain-blinded depths of the mine outside the hollow. A tight, suppressed, deadly low growl rolled out—an alarmed stance as if facing a foe.
Alex froze instantly. A coldness ran up from her soles through her skull, sharper than the rain.
There was something out there in the dark.
Something so dangerous that even this dying beast was terrified of it, and that thing was silently closing in from the storm-shrouded depths of the mine toward the slag hollow where they were hiding.