Zoromon held onto Sakhal as he galloped down the main path. The black horse was not nearly as swift as Ayhoshki, but he still loved a good romp. Zoromon grinned as the wind whipped through his hair. Riding a horse was as close as he would ever come to flying.

Suddenly, Sakhal skidded to a halt. Zoromon nearly fell off. “What was that all about?” he demanded. Then he saw Ayhoshki charging past, riderless. He called for her, and she slowed to a walk. Then she came to him. Zoromon dismounted. “Stay, Sakhal,” he said, then approached Ayhoshki. “Did something scare you, Pokey? Yes or no?” He held his hands out.

Ayhoshki nudged the hand for no.

“Liar.” Zoromon reached up to straighten her forelock. “It’s all right to be scared sometimes, but it’s not good to lie.”

The red mare pinned her ears. She didn’t like his accusation. Zoromon recoiled a split second before she bit him. “Ah, ah!” He shook his finger at her. “We don’t bite our friends.” He tried to hide the smile that tugged at his lips. Strong spirit was what Zoromon loved in a horse, or any creature, for that matter. “I am your friend, right?”

Ayhoshki walked past him to greet Sakhal.

“I see how it is.” He went over and patted Sakhal. “Getting on now.” He climbed up on the black horse’s back and nudged him onward. “Let’s run home.”

Sakhal’s ears twitched, then he looked at Ayhoshki. After some silent exchange, both horses sped their pace to a trot, then a canter, then a gallop. Zoromon held on tight. Looking between Sakhal’s ears, he could see Ayhoshki racing ahead, swift as an arrow flying downwind. He grinned. All else was a blur.

He rode back to the stable, where he untacked Sakhal and turned all the horses out to the pasture, even nasty-mannered Daichen. “Be nice,” he ordered the white stallion before setting him loose. Once all the horses were out the back door, he pulled it shut. The stalls needed to be mucked out, he realized. Rather absentmindedly, he went over to the storeroom to fetch a pitchfork.

The door only opened part of the way. He noticed a rope tie holding it shut. “Not funny, Perst,” he grumbled. He was about done with that scoundrel’s pranks.

“Not funny, Perst.” A woman’s voice mocked him from the other side.

Zoromon jumped. Then he remembered. Something nasty in the storeroom. Against his better judgment, he peeked through the door. A pair of luminous eyes stared back at him. Zoromon nearly fell backwards.

“I have a question,” she said. “This horse house. So many people. Why so few horses?”

Zoromon shrugged. The truth was that the stable had been built with Sakhal in mind, and that it existed only to keep him safe at night, along with a few other horses to confuse would-be attackers. Almost all Teron horses ran free, except for the few who lived here. But he decided not to tell her that.

“You’re Azvalath’s partner.” It was not a question. “Foolish to come without him.” The Ferash Therall crept closer. He could see a wide grin on her face. She held up her trussed wrists. “Naga!” The sound of her screaming in Razar startled Zoromon so badly that he lost his footing and fell down. He got back to his feet and saw that her hands blazed bright with heat. The rope around her wrists was in flames.

She pulled her hands apart. Flames leaped up from her palms. Zoromon ran for the door. Before he could open it, though, the Ferash Therall broke free of the storeroom and grabbed him by the hood of his cloak. Within seconds, it caught fire.

Zoromon bolted out, then dropped and rolled in the snow until the fire was put out. The Ferash Therall recoiled from the flood of sunlight and shielded her eyes. Zoromon got up and ran for his life.

When he made it back to his and Azvalath’s hut, the Ferash Therall was nowhere in sight, but his panic did not fade. “Azvalath!” he shouted. “Are you in there?”

Azvalath lifted the flap and poked his head out. “What’s happened, Zoromon?”

“I…I’m so sorry…” he gasped. “The Ferash Therall woman in the stable storeroom…she’s gotten loose. It was an accident, I swear!”

Azvalath stepped out. “Not your fault. If anything, it’s Machli’s fault for putting that monster there to begin with.” He pulled Zoromon into a tight hug. “We’ll live, Zoromon. We always do. I won’t let her hurt you. Or anyone else.”

Zoromon returned the embrace. He ran one hand over the scratches on Azvalath’s back and felt him flinch a little. “What about you, Azvalath? They’ll hurt you again.”

“Almost certainly, yes. Again and again, time after time.” Azvalath let go of him. “But know this, Zoromon. I’d rather live with a thousand scars than live alone in this world.”

Zoromon nodded and leaned in for a kiss. Azvalath met his lips almost desperately. When they parted, Zoromon chuckled. “You must think you sound so poetic.”

A smile tugged at Azvalath’s lips. “I do rather like the sound of my own voice. Now let’s go put a stop to this flaming nonsense. Got your dagger?”

Zoromon nodded. “Yes. Let’s go.”

They took off running toward the stable. As they passed by, dogs barked at them. Parents pulled their children inside. It went without saying that whenever Zoromon and Azvalath were in such a hurry, it meant danger was near. Danger, and they were racing straight into its jaws. Zoromon slowed down a little. A shiver ripped through him.

Azvalath grabbed his hand. “Come on. If she’s loose, we can’t let her get to Sakhal.”

Zoromon squeezed Azvalath’s hand and kept going.

Much to their shock, the stable was empty.

“I let the horses out,” Zoromon said quickly.

“You go check on them,” said Azvalath. “I’ll search around and see if there’s any trace of her. Yell if you need help.”

Zoromon nodded and opened the back door. The horses all appeared to be fine. His panic alleviated somewhat, he stepped outside. “Sakhal!” he called. The black horse trotted over to him. “Did you see a woman with red eyes, yes or no?”

Sakhal pinned his ears.

“Now is not the time. Talk to me.” Zoromon said it with enough tone that Sakhal backed away a few steps. He repeated the question, and Sakhal nudged the hand for yes.

“Did she hurt you, yes or no?” Zoromon asked.

Sakhal nudged no. Then he nudged Zoromon’s chest. Unsure of what his horse was trying to communicate, Zoromon came up beside him and wrapped an arm around his neck. He put his head against Sakhal’s. “Pictures,” said Zoromon. “Like we practiced. Tell me in pictures.”

Sakhal nickered. Zoromon closed his eyes to receive his horse’s mental image. A huge gray cloud covered the sun. On the other side of the fence, off in the distance, was an indistinct figure he presumed was the Ferash Therall. A raven flew in the sky overhead. And perched on top of the fence, balanced delicately, was the silver phantom fox.

“The Wanderer,” said Zoromon. “You saw it too?”

“Zoromon!” Azvalath’s call interrupted him. “Come look at this.”

Zoromon let Sakhal go and ran back inside. “Sakhal showed me a picture,” he said. “It was of…wait, what is that?” He went over to where Azvalath stood and looked at the storeroom wall. Burned into the wall was a message in writing he couldn’t read.

“A message,” said Azvalath. “I saw that fox again. It showed me what it said. Not today, Azvalath.” He scowled. “It seems a lot of Ferash Therall know my name.”

“I saw the Wanderer – that’s what it called itself – in Sakhal’s picture,” said Zoromon. “Is it here right now?”

“Yes,” said a voice behind them. Both of them jumped. The phantom fox flicked its tail. “I won’t hurt you. I can’t, actually.”

Azvalath stiffened. “What are you, Wanderer? A ghost? A dream? Something else altogether?”

The fox took a step closer. “I wonder the same about you. I wander far and wide, Azvalath and Zoromon…but I can’t tell what’s real anymore. Illusions, reality, it’s all the same to me now. Maybe…maybe I’m simply fantasizing about someone who spends his life protecting Razaghal instead of hunting them. I’ve been hunted for so long. But I wouldn’t want to burden you, Azvalath. You’re already…”

“Wait,” Zoromon interrupted. “You’re like us?”

“Better question,” said Azvalath. “Do you know where those Ferash Therall are?”

“No,” it said. “But I have an idea. Follow me.”

Zoromon looked at Azvalath, who nodded somewhat skeptically.

The fox led them out of the stable, then out of the settlement. It was still familiar territory for Zoromon, who frequented the neighboring woods to forage. Everything seemed normal until they came to a small cliff. Below the cliff was a crystal-blue pond.

There was no ice on the pond, and it was clearer than any water Zoromon had ever seen. The middle of it was darker blue than the edges, and it looked impossibly deep there. Most confusingly, Zoromon thought, he had never seen this pond before. He looked at Azvalath. “How could I have explored every inch of this little wood and never seen this pond before?” he asked.

Azvalath looked out over the edge. “This is a bluehole, I think. Must’ve been formed pretty recently.”

“What’s that?” Zoromon asked.

“A pond so deep that if you go in, you come out somewhere else. They’re made by an earth spirit, but others can use them too. The Ferash Therall must’ve gone through it.” He took a step closer to the edge. Suddenly, the rock beneath his feet crumbled.

“Azvalath!” Zoromon screamed as his partner disappeared over the edge. Instinctively, he ran to try and grab him, only to fall down himself. He hit the water with an impact that knocked the breath out of him. He sank into the icy depths, too stunned to flail or scream. Another impact jarred him back to his senses.

Zoromon opened his eyes and knew immediately that he was somewhere else. Azvalath was beside him at the edge of a pool, but the trees were all gone, and so was the Wanderer. A strange gray half-light enveloped the world around them. Everything looked washed out and muted.

Azvalath got up and helped Zoromon to his feet. “Where are we?” Zoromon asked.

“This,” said Azvalath, “is the Pause. It’s the plane where the Iron God is imprisoned. And it’s where Ferash Therall hide. Zoromon, we have to go back before…”

“Too late,” said Zoromon. He pointed to the shadow approaching. “They’re already here.”

Azvalath drew his sword. “Now go, Zoromon.”

Zoromon snapped back. “Now come with me.”

They plunged into the pool together and emerged back at the pond they had originally fallen into. When he opened his eyes on the shore, Zoromon was astounded to see that his clothes were not wet. Had they even gotten wet the first time? He had never noticed.

Azvalath came up a few seconds later. He clutched his sword tightly. “Zoromon, why?” he seethed. “I could have…”

“Could have been killed,” said Zoromon. “Have we been followed?”

Before Azvalath could answer, a lone Ferash Therall came up on the other side of the pond. It was a boy who must have stopped aging in his late teens. Azvalath raised his sword. The dark blue blade gleamed in the light of the setting sun. “Strange,” he said, “to see a Ferash Therall alone.”

Zoromon unsheathed his dagger. “What’s the plan, Azvalath?”

“We have to get him away from the pond,” said Azvalath. “His partner will probably come up any moment now.” He looked up at the Ferash Therall and screamed. “Now come after me!” Then he disappeared into the woods.