The group slipped out of a hidden crack in the bone wall.

  From the outside, you couldn't even tell a door existed. The entrance looked exactly like the rest of the fossilized rib. It was a perfect, grim camouflage. They stuck to the shadows, moving through the patches of darkness cast by the massive arches of bone above them.

  Lemony looked up at the skeletal sky.

  "Old Horg, where did Malphas even come from? This rib cage is huge, but it doesn't look like it belongs to him."

  Old Horg, the tortoise-man, leaned on his shovel as he walked, his shell clinking against the gear on his back.

  "You've got a sharp eye for a kit," Horg rasped.

  "This rib was from something way older. We're talking two million years, maybe more. Back then, things walked this earth that would make Malphas look like a house pet."

  He spat into the snow and continued.

  "Malphas showed up much later, hundreds of thousands of years ago. He started tearing the Veridian Kingdom apart, piece by piece. The King back then realized they couldn't kill it, so he sent his best warriors to lure it here and seal it in this graveyard for eternity. Now, it's just a cycle of feeding the beast to keep the lock tight."

  Lemony nodded slowly. It was a lot to take in, but since he felt like an empty shell anyway, he didn't get a headache over it. He just accepted it as another fact of a world that didn't care about him.

  They walked for about a kilometer through the freezing wind until Koro signaled for them to stop.

  "Alright, this is the spot," Koro whispered.

  "We can't put them all in one hole. If a Scavenger finds a mass grave, they'll know something is up. We bury them one by one, spaced out. Don't let yourselves be seen. If you see a light in the distance, drop flat and don't move."

  Koro reached into a large, enchanted sack and started pulling out the dead bodies. He tossed one toward each of them.

  Sissy winced, her wings shivering as the cold, stiff corpse of a feline worker landed near her feet.

  Lemony looked at the body in front of him, then looked at Sissy.

  "Why are you disgusted?" he asked.

  To him, it was just more weight to move.

  "Are you serious!? They're dead bodies! They were alive minutes ago! Have some respect!"

  Lemony didn't really get it. To him, once the life was gone, it was just a thing. He grabbed his shovel and the legs of the creature he was assigned to bury.

  Sissy huffed, grabbed her own shovel with a lot of attitude, and started dragging her body toward a distant mound of snow.

  The work had officially begun.

  The math was simple.

  Twelve bodies, four workers.

  Old Horg didn't want dig. He just stood there keeping watch and pointing out the best spots where the ground wasn't frozen solid. That meant Lemony had to deal with three corpses all by himself.

  As Lemony dragged the first body across the crunching snow, a sharp glint caught his eye. Way off in the distance, a beam of light cut through the dark. It was a lighthouse, a tower built by the Scavengers to keep an eye on the graveyard.

  He stopped. He knew he should just keep his head down and finish the job, but a small spark of curiosity flickered in his chest. What kind of people actually took a job watching a monster's dinner?

  The light began to swing toward his direction. Lemony didn't panic. He just dropped flat, pulling the stiff body of the dead feline over him slightly and kicking snow over his coat. He stayed perfectly still.

  The light swept over him, a bright white circle that turned the snow into blinding diamonds. Thanks to his feline heritage, Lemony's eyes adjusted instantly. He could see the silhouettes up on the tower.

  They were wolves.

  Not like Ve, the Skoll-Wolf back at the shelter. These were different. They looked armored and professional. They were the ones making sure nobody like him ever got out.

  Once the light passed and the world returned to a dim blue-gray, Lemony crawled backward, dragging the bodies with him. He moved another hundred meters into a deep shadow cast by a massive, curved bone.

  He started digging.

  He didn't dig too deep---just enough to cover the scent and keep the body from being an eyesore. He packed the snow back down, making sure it looked like a natural drift.

  He looked at the dead face for a second before the last shovel of snow covered it.

  It was just a face.

  He moved another two hundred meters to the right. The wind was picking up, biting at his ears, but he didn't stop. He buried the second body in a small crevice between two rocks.

  Finally, he reached the last one.

  It was a feline, a species not too different from his own. This guy had probably spent his life working in a kitchen or a field, only to end up as a frozen pile of fur in a portal.

  Lemony didn't feel sad, but he felt a weird sense of recognition.

  "Guess we both ended up in the same place," he muttered.

  He walked another hundred meters to the right, found a spot under a twisted, black tree, and finished the final grave.

  His back ached and his hands were numb, but the work was done.

  He turned around and started the long trek back to the meeting point where Koro and the others were supposed to be waiting.

  Lemony trudged back through the snow, his tail dragging slightly. As he walked, he looked around at the towering ribs and the vast, empty plains of white.

  Where was Malphas anyway? The beast was huge enough to shake the earth, but in this graveyard of giants, even a monster could find a place to hide.

  When he reached the meeting point, Sissy and Old Horg were already there. Sissy looked a bit tired, but her wings were tucked neatly against her back. Being able to fly definitely made the job faster for her.

  Lemony looked around. "Where are the others?"

  "Still digging," Old Horg grunted, leaning heavily on his shovel.

  "Koro and Ve took the biggest bodies. Those things weigh a ton and need deep holes. It's going to take them a while."

  Lemony nodded, then pointed back toward the direction he had come from. "I saw a lighthouse, with wolves."

  The reaction was instant. Sissy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, and Old Horg's face turned a dusty shade of gray.

  "What!? You went near that!?" Sissy hissed, her wings fluttering in a panic.

  "I wasn't seen. I laid in the snow until the light passed."

  Old Horg didn't look relieved. He looked furious. He stomped over, his heavy shell swaying, and pointed a gnarled finger at Lemony's chest.

  "Don't you ever go back there! You're too reckless, kid! Do you have any idea how close you came to getting us all slaughtered?"

  Horg's voice was shaking.

  "Do you think you're special or something? I had a companion once. He said the same damn thing. He was dead five minutes later!"

  Lemony just stared at him. He didn't feel the weight of the old man's anger. He didn't feel the fear Horg was trying to push onto him. He just watched the old tortoise breathe heavily in the cold air.

  "Calm down, Horg. He's new. He didn't know." Sissy pleaded, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder.

  Horg spat into the snow, muttered something about "suicidal kittens," and walked off a few paces to be alone in his anger.

  Sissy sighed and turned to Lemony. Her expression was a mix of frustration and genuine confusion.

  "You need to just shut up sometimes," she said softly.

  "And seriously... could you show some emotion for once? A little fear? A little worry? Anything?"

  Lemony tilted his head. He didn't understand what she wanted from him. Fear didn't dig holes. Worry didn't stop the wind.

  Sissy stepped closer, looking him right in those empty feline eyes. She asked him a question that actually made him pause.

  "Have you even lived before!?"

  Lemony didn't answer. He didn't have an answer. He just turned away and walked toward a massive curve of the rib that created a small, dry overhang.

  He sat down in the dirt and bone-dust, hiding himself from the wind and the conversation.

  Lemony sat under the bone overhang, staring at his paws.

  Did I do something wrong? he wondered. He didn't think he did. He just said what he saw. He didn't get why people got so worked up about things that already happened.

  ----------------------------------------------------------

  Outside, Sissy sat in the snow, her wings drooping. She looked toward the darkness where Koro and Ve were supposed to be.

  "They should have been back by now. What is taking them so long?" she muttered to herself.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  She looked around for Old Horg, but the old tortoise was nowhere to be seen.

  "Great. Now the old man is wandering off while he's mad. He can't even walk straight most of the time."

  ----------------------------------------------------------

  A few hundred meters away, Old Horg was stomping through the deep snow. He was still fuming.

  "A trash cat," he grumbled.

  "A literal Pale-Mantle Manul talking to me like I'm some kid. I've survived a century in this frozen hell. Before this, I was a decorated soldier! I don't need a kitten telling me how to handle a lighthouse."

  He was so busy being angry that he didn't notice the rhythm of the lighthouse beam. He kicked a mound of snow in frustration, sending a spray of white into the air.

  Suddenly, the world turned blindingly white.

  The beam of the Scavenger lighthouse hit him square in the back. Horg froze. His heart hammered against his shell.

  "No way," he whispered.

  "No, no, no. I messed up. I actually messed up!"

  He started to move, but he was a tortoise. Even in a panic, he wasn't built for sprinting.

  Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

  Black arrows hissed through the air, thudding into the snow around his feet. One grazed his shell, sparking against the bone-like surface. The wolves in the tower had seen him, and they weren't going to let him go.

  "Help me!!" Horg screamed.

  "Someone! Help!"

  ----------------------------------------------------------

  Back at the rib, Sissy jumped up. "Horg! That's Horg!"

  She spread her wings, ready to take off and dive toward the voice. But before she could leave the ground, a hand clamped firmly onto her arm.

  "Don't," Lemony said.

  "Let go of me! He's going to die!" Sissy shouted, trying to shake him off.

  "If you fly right at him, they'll see where you came from. If he's already captured or being followed, you're just showing them where the hideout is. It's probably a bait."

  Sissy gritted her teeth. She knew he was right, and that made her even more frustrated.

  "Fine! But I'm not leaving him! Get on my back!"

  She grabbed Lemony and took off, but she stayed low, hugging the jagged terrain of the rib to stay out of the direct line of sight from the tower. They zipped through the shadows of the giant bones until they saw him.

  Old Horg was stumbling through the snow, tripping over his own feet. Dozens of arrows were stuck in the ground behind him like a trail. He was crying out, his face pale with terror.

  But as they got closer, Lemony saw it. Horg wasn't just being shot at. He was being steered. The arrows weren't hitting him on purpose.

  They were forcing him to run straight back toward the secret entrance.

  "He's caught. They're using him to find the rest of us," Lemony whispered.

  "So you're saying he's leading them right to us?" Sissy's voice was shaking.

  "We have to stop him!"

  She banked to the left, trying to stay behind a massive bone pillar. But it was too late. Old Horg looked up and spotted Sissy's dark wings against the gray sky. His eyes lit up with a desperate, selfish hope.

  "Sissy! Over here!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  "Drop the cat! Drop the brat and pick me up! We have to get back to the base now!"

  Lemony stared down at the old tortoise.

  "He's an idiot," he said.

  Sissy froze in mid-air. She couldn't believe what she just heard. Horg had just shouted the word "base" loud enough for the entire valley to hear.

  The six wolves chasing him stopped immediately. They didn't fire any more arrows. The leader in the middle, a wolf with a jagged scar across his snout, looked up at Sissy and then at the trail Horg was making.

  "A base?" the lead wolf growled.

  "There's a hidden nest of survivors out here? If the King finds out we let a whole colony live under our noses for a century, it's our heads on the block. We end this today. Kill them all!"

  Sissy felt like her heart had stopped. A hundred years of secrecy, a hundred years of building a home in the bones, all gone because an old man got angry and lost his head. Her wings felt heavy, like they were made of lead. She really thought this was the end of everything.

  "They're the only ones who heard that, right?" Lemony asked.

  Sissy blinked, looking at the small feline in her arms. "What?"

  "The wolves. They're the only ones who know about the base now, right?" Lemony repeated. He looked down at the six wolves and then at Old Horg, who was still reaching his hands up toward them.

  Sissy nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just them."

  "Then we have to end them," Lemony said. His voice didn't have a single trace of

  hesitation.

  "All of them. Including Old Horg."

  Sissy gasped. It was a horrible thing to say. Horg was one of them. He was a Leftover. But then she looked at the wolves, who were already pulling out more arrows and signaling for backup on their radios. If even one of those wolves got away, or if Horg led them any closer, hundreds of innocent people in the bone-walls would die.

  It was a cold, wrong answer, but as she looked into Lemony's empty eyes, she realized it was probably the only way any of them were going home tonight.

  "How can we even fight?" Sissy's voice cracked.

  "I'm a scout, Lemony. I'm not a soldier. I can't kill six wolves and a traitor!"

  Lemony didn't look at her. "Give me your shovel."

  "What?"

  "The shovel. Give it to me," he said again.

  Sissy reached into her gear and handed him the heavy iron tool. Her hands were shaking so much she almost dropped it.

  "Are you sure? You're just... you're a Manul. They're trained hunters."

  "I will try," Lemony said.

  Sissy dived low, letting Lemony go just a few feet above the snow. He landed lightly, his paws sinking into the powder. He didn't run away. He walked straight toward the wolves, dragging the shovel behind him.

  Old Horg saw him and tried to scramble past. "Get out of the way, kid! Move!"

  As Horg reached him, Lemony didn't reach out to help. He planted his foot and shoved the old tortoise hard. Horg tumbled into the snow, yelping in surprise.

  "I'll end you too," Lemony muttered, not even looking back at the old man.

  He stopped ten paces in front of the wolf pack. The leader stepped forward, his fur bristling. He looked at Lemony with pure disgust, his lip curling back to reveal yellowed fangs.

  "A house cat with a garden tool," the leader growled, his voice like grinding stones.

  "Do you think this is a game, little sacrifice? I'll tear the marrow from your tiny bones and let the crows have what's left. Kill him."

  Three wolves raised their bows. Twang!

  Lemony's eyes tracked the movement.

  His life had been nothing but repetitive, back-breaking labor. Carrying crates that weighed more than he did, dodging the Master's whip when he was too slow, and moving with precision to avoid breaking expensive vases. His instincts weren't born from a dojo. They were born from a decade of being a punching bag.

  He swung the shovel. Clang! Clang! The iron head of the tool knocked two arrows out of the air. The third one grazed his ear, drawing a thin line of red, but he didn't blink. He charged.

  He was fast. Because he was small, he stayed low to the ground, moving more like a blur of red fur than a person. He reached the first wolf before it could reload. He swung the shovel like a bat, catching the wolf square in the throat. There was a sickening crack, and the wolf went down, clutching its neck.

  The other two closed in with jagged daggers. Lemony parried a strike, the iron shovel ringing out in the cold air. It was harder than he thought. These guys were strong. Every time their blades hit his shovel, his arms vibrated with a numbing shock.

  He ducked under a wild swing and slammed the edge of the shovel into a wolf's shin. As the creature barked in pain, Lemony leaped up and kicked off its chest, putting distance between him and the leader. He was breathing hard. His muscles ached, but the emptiness in his head kept him moving. He didn't feel the fatigue. He just saw the next move.

  ----------------------------------------------------------

  Up in the air, Sissy was frozen. She had never seen anyone move like that, let alone a "weak" species like a Manul. He was fighting like a demon. But she couldn't just watch.

  "I have to find Koro and Ve!" she screamed to herself.

  She turned to fly toward the last known location of the others, ignoring Horg's pathetic begging from the snow below. She flapped her wings hard, rising higher to get a better view.

  Whizz!

  A stray arrow, fired by one of the wolves in the back, sliced through the air. It didn't hit her body, but it tore right through the dark hair that formed her left wing.

  "Ah!" Sissy cried out. The balance was gone. She spiraled out of the sky, slamming into a snowbank with a heavy thud.

  Lemony saw her fall. For the first time, a flicker of something that wasn't emptiness crossed his face. His eyes widened.

  The wolf leader saw the opening.

  He stepped over his fallen comrade and pointed his sword at Lemony's throat, while another wolf moved toward the downed Sissy.

  "Look at that," the leader sneered, his breath smelling of raw meat.

  "The bird is clipped, and the kitten is tired. You'll die now. And I'm going to make it very, very slow."

  Old Horg didn't get far. As he scrambled through the snow, an arrow caught him in the shoulder. He let out a sharp yelp and tumbled forward, his face buried in the freezing powder. He didn't get back up this time.

  Lemony ignored the old man. His eyes were fixed on Sissy. For the first time in his life, that hollow void in his chest felt tight. He looked at her with a face that was actually sad. It was a strange, clumsy expression, like he didn't know how to use the muscles in his face to show worry.

  Sissy saw it. Even through the pain, she was stunned. Why was he looking at her like that? He was a guy who didn't care about anything, yet here he was, looking like his world was ending because she fell.

  "Lemony!" she screamed.

  But he was distracted. The wolf leader moved like a blur, swinging the heavy pommel of his sword. It connected with the side of Lemony's head with a sickening thud.

  The world went black. Lemony crumpled into the snow, his shovel slipping from his fingers. Sissy felt her heart sink. It was over.

  All that work, all those years of hiding, and it ended because of one bad night. The leader walked up to her, his shadow looming over her small frame.

  "Don't kill the tortoise," the leader ordered his men.

  Then he looked down at Sissy.

  "Good night, butterfly."

  He kicked her hard in the temple, and the darkness took her too.

  Lemony's head felt like it was being split open by an axe. He slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh light reflecting off the snow. He wasn't on the ground anymore. He was in the back of a wooden wagon, swaying back and forth.

  His wrists were bound tight with thick hemp rope. Next to him, Sissy was slumped over, still unconscious. Her beautiful, dark hair had been hacked off with a dull blade.

  Without it, she couldn't catch the wind. She was grounded.

  "Where am I?" Lemony croaked.

  The wolf leader, sitting at the front of the wagon, glanced back with a cold smirk.

  "You're inside Fort Rib. Our little slice of heaven."

  Lemony looked out.

  They were in a fortified area built directly into the side of a massive skeletal slope. There were dozens of wolves everywhere, wearing iron armor and carrying spears. It looked like a full military headquarters.

  "What's going to happen to us?" Lemony asked.

  "A surprise," the wolf replied.

  The wagon kept rolling, the wheels creaking under the weight. Lemony looked at Sissy and tried to nudge her with his shoulder, but she didn't wake up. He felt a cold dread he had never known before. He wasn't just a sacrifice anymore. He was also a prisoner.

  Suddenly, the wagon jerked to a halt.

  Lemony couldn't see what was in front, but he felt the air change.

  It was windier here.

  Much windier.

  The leader jumped down, grabbed Lemony by the collar of his red coat, and hauled him out. Then he reached back in and grabbed Sissy. He dragged them both to the very edge of a sheer cliff.

  Lemony looked down. It was a drop so deep the bottom was lost in a swirl of gray clouds and jagged bone-spikes. One step, and they would be erased.

  The wolf leader let go of them, leaving them huddled on the very brink of the abyss. He looked at Lemony, his yellow eyes showing no mercy.

  "Any last words, kitten?"

  Lemony looked at the wolf, then at the unconscious girl next to him. He didn't say a word. He didn't have anything left to say to a world that had always wanted him dead.

  The wolf didn't wait. He raised his heavy boot and kicked them both off the ledge.