"Go after him," he whispered. "Hurry."

"No, I'm getting you home."

"Brenden," he said. "We have to warn him."

She offered him neither comfort nor sympathy, but he heard the edge of hysterical sorrow in her voice. "Brenden's dead."

The underbrush grew thicker as Ratboy approached the small inlet river which hid the landlocked boat. Pain such as mortals feel did not plague him, but fear and exhaustion as he'd never known slowed his pace. All he could think of was Rashed and the boat and finding help. His lifeblood-taken from the tan-armed girl-covered every leaf and nettle he passed over. He had no idea how large the hole in his chest might be, but the entire front of his shirt was soaked.

How? How had the mortal half-elf injured him again?

Ratboy used the trees to support himself as he lurched forward, desperate to find his own kind, no longer caring about pride nor the shame of needing assistance.

Through the dense, deep green around him, the smell of life hit his nostrils. He tensed in confusion, and then an unfortunate deer hopped almost directly in front of him. Large, liquid eyes and a flash of white tail registered in his vision, and he rushed forward on instinct, screaming out in desperation as he grabbed the creature by the head and bit into its neck.

The deer kicked hard and dragged him a short way, but the terror of true death coming for him made his strength maniacal. He hung on with his arms and rolled his body, pulling the beast over to the ground. The animal weakened and began to grow limp in his arms. Feeding on animals was a pale shadow in comparison to people. An animal's life energy did not fill him with satisfaction or contentment, but it still offered life and healing. He released the animal as it died.

Panic subsided. The opening in his chest closed just enough for his own bleeding to stop. He left the deer where it lay, its eyes wide open, and headed for the boat again.

Now that true death was not imminent, his state of mind changed. He was uncomfortable and embarrassed by his previous fear-and his need for Rashed. Undeads lived in each other's company out of choice, not need.

The wild, clean life force of the deer flowed through him, unfettered by the complexity of relationships and emotional attachments. He felt the heart of the forest beat inside his ears, even though his own stopped beating many years ago. Wolves howled and an owl hooted.

Did he wish to hide inside the belly of a boat for weeks while Rashed forced them all to sail until settling in a new town-but just like this one? Would they build another warehouse and pretend to live as mortals?

Ratboy slowed his pace. He looked down at his chest and then ripped off what was left of his shirt. Torn flesh met his inspection. The blood of a mortal would finish healing him. Again, he wondered about the best course of action.

Teesha had wanted to flee.

Rashed wanted to stay and fight.

Both their motivations were becoming clear. Rashed wanted revenge and to make certain Teesha would be permanently safe from the hunter. Teesha just wanted to keep Rashed away from that hunter. But what about him? What about Ratboy? Did he matter to them at all? He had stayed with them all these years because he'd never really liked living alone, but standing there in the forest, looking at his wounded chest, he wondered if he hadn't been alone the whole time.

"Do not be one of them," a mad but familiar voice breathed in his ear.

He cast about wildly, but saw no one. He knew the voice. Unbidden, images of Parko danced in the darkness, and he longed for the freedom to hunt and kill and feed as the need drove him.

The white face and feral laugh of his old companion followed when he started moving again. And where was Parko's body now? At the bottom of a river because some hunter put it there-the same one who now hunted him.

He heard the sound of a hammer pounding on wood and moved up quietly behind a tree. The mild inlet river gushed softly as it flowed past, and Rashed stood not far away with his own shirt off, attempting to repair the hole in the boat's hull.

Rashed's white skin was the only unnatural element of his appearance. The heavy bones of his bare shoulders and the practiced swing of his mallet seemed completely human, completely mortal. Other tools and boards lay on the ground, waiting to be used.

"Is he a true Noble Dead?" Parko's dead voice whispered in Ratboy's ear.

"No." Ratboy shook his head. He stepped back, realizing the futility of Rashed's actions, the pointless danger of remaining to fight this hunter, the regret of leaving Teesha behind.

There was no indecision, no real turmoil inside him anymore. He wasn't going back. The forest called him. He could kill along the way, steal clothes from his victims, and be true to his own nature.

One last pang of longing passed through him as he thought again of Teesha. Then he disappeared into the trees… heading north.

Even though the hole in the ship's hull was small, Hashed was beginning to realize he'd never be able to mend it himself without proper supplies-and even then it would take several nights to make her seaworthy. He'd ripped some boards from the deck and attempted to use them for hull repairs. At first the work pleased him, as it gave him something constructive to do and reminded him that he indeed controlled his own fate. Now he decided a different course of escape might be in order. If they could travel by road at night to the next town along the coastline, he could buy them passage on a ship.

He frowned. That would take money. He had counted on being able to delay concern over finances.

His thoughts turned to Teesha.

Her method of hunting did not give him cause to worry, but he still glanced backward occasionally, wishing she would appear.

Often given to admiring aesthetics, he could not help noticing the beauty and variety of forest life growing on and around the boat. Vines of purple and white, bell-shaped flowers hung down from the bow and the stern, connecting to heavy fir trees and wild lilac bushes. Even in the moonlight, glowing blankets of light green moss covered many tree trunks and roots like soft carpets. The thought of fleeing such a place only fueled his anger toward the hunter who had desecrated his current existence.

"You could have been a carpenter," said a sweet voice behind him.

He turned to see Teesha inspecting his work, which he hardly thought worthy of praise. With her dark curls falling like a blanket around her petite face and shoulders, the glorious colors of nature faded in his estimation. Nothing compared to her.

"Is the blacksmith dead?" he asked flatly, not mentioning his relief at her return.

"Yes…"

Something was wrong. He lowered his mallet and walked to her.

"What is it? Did the half-elf escape Ratboy?"

Teesha raised her chin to look him full in the face.

"I think Ratboy has left us. I felt his separation."

Rashed didn't understand, but he knew Teesha's mental abilities surpassed his own. "What do you mean?"

She reached out to touch his arm. Earlier, he'd removed his torn tunic to work with greater freedom, and the sensation of her fingers on his bare skin made him tremble.

"He is gone," she said simply. "He has followed Parko onto the Feral Path."

A sense of loss hit Rashed. It was not so much because he cared for or missed Ratboy, but more that his safe world was unraveling around him and he could not seem to rewind the skein.

But that which mattered most still stood by his side, still needed his protection. If he were capable, he would have embraced Teesha tightly and whispered comfort in her ear.

He was not. Instead, he turned halfway toward the boat and said, "So there are only two of us now?"