The Root Beast took a fluid step forward. Some lingering snow bristled off its needles, which fluttered around the clawed limb that sunk into the ground.

Naekit made no movements, but he knew deep down that it didn’t matter. The hollow thumping continued its horrid din and Naekit realized that it was the Root Beast making this sound. He had heard stories from the man who named him that there were beasts throughout the land that saw with sound, and that if you made any noise they would find you.

Naekit was frightened of the idea of that kind of creature when he was younger, but now he was terrified. The wind whipped through the trees, but all he could hear was the hollow thumping.

The Root Beast took another step forward, and halved the distance between them. The hollow thumping got twice as loud.

Naekit realized he was about to die.

He looked down at his frayed cloak, his dignity, the first gift he ever received. He wished he could be wise. He wished he could be strong. He wished he could grow and become long lived and mysterious so that he could clothe and name someone some day. He gripped the sleeping lightning bolt in his trembling little hand. He thought about the light from this bolt being trapped in a bottle that he would wear around his neck when he was a wandering wiseman. He would not need to search for home anymore, because he would be wise enough to bring it with him wherever he went.

Naekit realized he did not want to die.

He reached down again, the hollow thumping quickened, he picked up a stone. He pointed the sleeping lightning bolt at the beast, and raised his arm to slam the rock on the base of it.

The Root Beast took another step forward. The hollow thumping shook the ground. Naekit struck the sleeping bolt with the rock.

A dud. The sleeping bolt fizzled out like all the others he tried to wake; a thin wisp of smoke coughed from the tip.

The Root Beast leapt forward.