Mournful Song called out to Shinju like a choir. Crouched in the frosted underbrush, Shinju watched the iced branches and ferns for a flash of Mournful Song’s segmented scales.
Though fog had obscured her vision, Shinju had once spotted the beast from the towers at the edge of town. Slinking away with a cow half ripped to strips and ribbons, red smears left in the snow. Mournful Song’s breath misting from under its mandibles. This mist would not be seen, Shinju knew, with the fog. But its scales and it legs’ erratic movement propelling it forward were unmistakable, printed in her mind and dreams.
And now, from the brush, she waited. Mournful Song’s voice carried well, hovering all around.
“Why are you here?” Mournful Song sang. “So filled with fear?”
Shinju took a deep breath, sucking in air slowly. Do you really know I’m here?
“I won’t take you too,” it sang, “unless your heart’s untrue.”
There, just behind the roots of an oak, half curled, its stalks raised over the edge. Like twigs, which Shinju had mistaken as such. It was a half a hundred paces, too far of a distance to sneak, not with Mournful Song so aware. “For months,” Shinju said, “you have culled our livestock, and almost took a child.”
“The child remained unharmed,” Mournful Song sang, its stalks adjusting. “Does that not quell your alarm?”
“Beasts will defend themselves,” Shinju said, creeping out from her cover. Her boots crunched through the icy layer atop the snow. Lowering the long-blade of her spear, she kept her pace steady and rhythmic. “Some fight, and some pretend to speak.”
“Leave me be,” Mournful Song sang. It crawled out and over the root and half curled around the trunk of the oak. Its head lifted and pointed toward her, mandibles clicking, forelegs curling and uncurling in anticipation. “Leave me be!”
“Leave your belly up and I’ll be swift,” Shinju said, “merciful, even.”
The song turned sharp, and Mournful Song rushed forward, leaping from the tree as it unfurled.
“Light of Light, guide my spear,” Shinju whispered, planting her feet as it barreled toward her. She waited until the tip of her spear grazed its forehead’s plate, and stepped aside. But the tail curved back around and, though she leapt, it slammed into her ankles and she tumbled to the snow.
Shinju scrambled to her feet, tightening her grip on the spear as the tail came lashing back. But now, the underside faced toward her, and she aimed the blade for the center. It dug into the softer flesh even as the tail curled around her. Mournful Song cried out, and the haft of the spear broke.
Shinju grabbed the haft closer to the blade and pushed against the center of the tail, as the legs scrambled and thrashed against her, the tips of the legs pressing against her leathern cuirass. She grunted, cutting further up, as steaming ichor poured out over her hands.
Mournful Song’s pressure relented, as she carved up toward the clicking and sawing mandibles. She braced one foot against the side of the beast’s headplate and drove the blade into the gap there. It turned its head and the blade bent as blood streamed and pulsed from the wound. Just as Mournful Song began to dig at her arms, its mandibles slowed and stopped, and its frenetic breathing slowed.
Shinju crawled out from the coiled tail and stepped down into the melting snow. She turned back around, and shook her hands, the hot blood spraying off from the fingertips of her gloves. She waited, watching the softly breathing beast.
“Goodnight,” it said. “Goodnight.”
For a few minutes, Shinju leaned against the nearest oak, checking her arms. Her bracers had been cut and ripped but Mournful Song had not cut her skin. Once Mournful Song grew still, Shinju approached.
Shinju reached across its head and sawed the blade back and forth until she freed it. Though it had bent, it could be repaired, she hoped. She stared at the silent beast a moment longer before turning, stalking off toward home.
