her shudder. Right before her, Tyr’s untroubled breathing and little whimpers of
excitement were a comfort. At least they were until Tyr began to growl as she
crawled.
The tunnel grew smaller and smaller until Mriga had to haul herself along
completely flat, and swore she couldn’t bear another second of it. The fifth or
sixth time she swore that, the echoes suddenly widened out again. Tyr leaped out
into the space; Siveni almost speared her from behind in her haste to follow.
Tyr was still growling. Ischade stood in the dimness, still wearing that
wickedly interested smile. Mriga looked around, dusting herself off, and could
see little until Siveni came out and held the spear aloft-
A growl like an earthquake answered Tyr’s. Mriga looked up. Hoary, huge, and
bloodstained, filling almost the whole stone-columned cavern where they stood, a
Hound crouched, slavering at the sight of them. It was the same Hound that the
Ilsigs said ate the moon every month, and sometimes the sun when it could catch
it; though usually Ils or Siveni would drive it away. Here, though, the Hound
was on its own ground, and Mriga’s omniscience informed her that Siveni would be
badly outmatched if she tried conclusions with it.
“Aren’t you supposed to give it something?” Siveni said from behind Ischade,
sounding quite casual, and fooling no one. “A cake, or some such-?”
“Do I own the moon?” Ischade said. “It wouldn’t be interested in anything less,
I fear.” And she stood there in calm interest, as if waiting to see what would