Vest

*The merchant arrived in the foothills later than usual this year. Among the goods was an old silver brooch: a thin sheet of silver, shaped like a petal, with a stone the color of icy water. 'I brought it from the Eastern Mountains,' he said, 'from where those who wish to remain in the shadows live. From which cave — I do not know. The thing keeps winter, but there is no cold in it — only a memory of cold.'

Mayle bargained down to half price — and only after a mile, when he retrieved the brooch again, he froze.

The silver smelled of frosty orchid and first snow.

He reached the southern slope within a day. Vest was already waiting for him by the stone-mirror — the beast had sensed that scent from many versts away.*

'You carry it,' Vest said. He did not ask.

'I carry it,' Mayle extended the silver petal. — Eastern Mountains. Shadow. Forgive me — I did not know.

*Vest inhaled. Once.

And the beast inside him stood on its paws. It did not lunge, did not growl — it scratched from within, heavily and demandingly: 'her. Find. Now.' Vest pressed his palm to his chest and sat right down in the snow — like those who have lost their support.*

'Eastern Mountains,' he repeated. 'No one goes there. The shadow hides those who themselves ask for shadow.' the snow leopard speaks softly

'There is half the world there, Vest. Mists, paths…' Mayle says quietly, whimpering

'One track. One scent. I will find it.'

The beast scratched — and Vest no longer argued. He named it by a name he had always known but never spoken aloud: 'soon'