Diego was in a solidly good mood. Not just quietly pleased: he thought of himself as an easy-going guy and believed he was often quietly pleased. This was more than that: there were any number of unusually good things going on.

He was out in a tent in the wilderness. Usually he planned such trips for many days before taking them and had to deal with others’ hesitation to let him go or disbelief that he really wanted to, but here he was, with no advance warning, at the urging of his wife and friends.

And that was another thing: his wife and friends were here too! He had convinced his wife to come out with him just once before, early in their marriage; never succeeded in convincing Fyodor to join him before; and had never even tried with Oisha. But here they all were, together, in his tents, about to eat his food around the fire he had built, together. With him. Doing what he loved to do.

Also, Fyodor and Oisha had come to them. Fyodor and Oisha were Diego’s closest friends: he worked alone and played alone and didn’t really meet or get close to many people. He guessed he’d spent more time with Fyodor and Oisha than he had with all the other people hew knew (outside his own family) combined. That said, he’d never had any reason to believe that he was their closest friend. They were friendly with him and Catalina, yes, but they had many friends and often went visiting or hosted dinner parties without inviting their neighbors. But when danger arose and family was on the line, they didn’t hesitate: they came straight to him and Catalina. Personally. Directly. Entreatingly. First and only.

They had come to him and to Catalina, and as a result Catalina had made him so proud! Oisha had never disguised her belief that Catalina was a bit… unsuitable. She found Catalina too direct, too unfeeling, too strict with her children, too trusting of her children, too content with being plump, too careless about her appearance, too obsessed with barrel racing: in almost every particular either too much or too little. But Catalina was the one who had found a way across the wilderness fast enough to beat a kobakra with a head start. Catalina was the one who helped them cover more than twelve leagues where an inexperienced flyer would have likely maxed out at eight or nine. Catalina was the one who raised a barrier to keep out the bugs and forced the smoke to fly down and chase the bugs away. And somehow, amidst all of that, Catalina had manged not just to impress Oisha but also show her she was still just a being and a suitable object of sympathy. When he thought back on the sight of Oisha massaging Catalina’s forearm and hand so solicitously he couldn’t help but grin. That would have been a high point even without everything else around it.

And the best part was, it was still going on! In a moment he’d get up and build up the fire, then start on breakfast while he watched the sunrise so that as the others got up they’d find hot beans, bacon, and trail biscuits waiting for them. Then they’d get back on their barrels—here he paused, his happy reverie broken by the pain that was the idea of leaving eight perfectly serviceable gleam barrels behind in the wilderness—they’d get back on their barrels, he repeated to himself firmly, pass high over a kobakra, and long before noon arrive in Woodkettle where they’d share news that would save that town untold pain and heartache. Not that they’d necessarily get a heroes’ welcome, of course, because they were technically bearing bad news, but, well— he interrupted this train of thought too. And he’d get to see young Tina! And her mother Sofia, his daughter, whom he’d not seen in more than two years! And tell her about the giant baby-snatching monster that was on its way to her home, in time for her to—

You know what? That breakfast wasn’t going to make itself! Time to be up and doing.

It was a quiet and grumpy morning. Fyodor had so many sores and kinks from sleeping on the ground that the only thing he found more painful than moving was being still. Oisha worked out her kinks with some energetic calisthenics, but she itched all over and reeked of smoke and dried sweat and longed for a bath and a good shampooing. Some creature had come by in the night and taken most of her bread and scattered her fruit, so all they had to go with Diego’s beans, bacon, and biscuits was some slightly-wilted greens. Diego seemed determined to be in a good mood, but was clearly out of practice and managed to act enthusiastic about the things Oisha and Fyodor were least happy about—like a smokey breakfast of flatulence fuel, a morning sky that promised a light mist (maybe even a drizzle) later in the day, and the time to properly break camp occasioned by the need to wait for their food to settle before relieving themselves behind a rock and then departing—while failing to mention anything that might actually lighten their mood. Only Catalina could be said to be her usual self, but as her usual self said little and reacted to less that didn’t really help.

Things got better once they were in the air, largely because it allowed the two couples to separate. Catalina and Diego rode ahead, seemingly happy in their work of plotting a path over the increasingly rough landscape. Oisha and Fyodor hung back far enough not to be overheard and began to complain. They complained about bugs bites and sore joints, about a bean breakfast and no outhouse, about the cold breeze and awkwardness of sitting on a barrel. They found comfort in their agreement that things were not as they hoped they’d be, but they were both of them basically kind, optimistic people whose usual reaction to others complaining was to point out why things were not as bad as they seemed, and so they moved, gradually and without any clear transition, from negativity to positivity. The bug bites were annoying, but how much worse they’d have been without Catalina’s remarkable actions! Sleeping on the ground had left them sore, but surely it had left the other two sore as well and yet they’d agreed to come at some expense just because they were asked. Beans weren’t the ideal breakfast, but how much worse off would they be if they’d had to rely on the food the animals had taken during the night? And look at the rugged beauty of the land, gliding smoothly away underneath them with none of the labor that crossing such rocky land would require if they were on foot. Think of the remarkable fortune that they were able to make this trip at all!

This promising line of conversation was interrupted by Diego slowing and waving his arms energetically but silently in a display he no doubt thought had some kind of meaning. Before they could puzzle it out or get close enough to ask, Catalina made a sharp turn and started flying at full speed off to the right. Diego, seeing this, stopped his arm-flapping and hurried to join her. Fyodor and Oisha did too, cutting the corner to help close the distance. Moments later they understood what had caused this diversion from their original path: a remarkable, disgusting, frightening creature that could only be the kobakra.

At first glance it looked like a mole or badger or some other burrowing furry creature: stocky body, spear-shaped snout, broad paws with heavy claws and mobile shoulders. But it was much much too large, larger than any beast, the size of a small house. Its eyes, which seemed tiny in its huge face, glowed like hot coals. Its legs had an extra joint: long hairless scaly shanks where its wrists or ankles should be, giving it a strange bird-like look. Its tail was some kind of strange barbed forked braided thing, very much constructed not grown, as if a whip maker had decided to try braiding a leafless rose bush. Twitches and spasms intermittently distorted its body: a momentary impression of spines growing from its back, then a fiery pulse in its veins, then a brief telescoping of its legs, then a flash where every hair looked like a snake before being hair one more.

None of them were prepared for this. The kobakra had come through Goldknob on a moonless night and there had been no eyewitnesses. Diego had seen its tracks so the overall size and clawed paws were no surprise to him, but he’d had no notion it would have those strange legs and warped tail-thing; plus it was one thing to see large paw prints and say it was big, at least twice as tall as a draft horse, likely bigger and another thing altogether to see what that actually looked like. The rest of them had only heard the rumors that circulated through Goldknob after its passage: that kobakras were dream-cursed beasts created when a parent who’d lost a child fell asleep feeling jealous of parents who had not and had a nightmare strong enough to shape magic. They’d expected a beast-turned-monster, but this was a horrific nightmare straining at the constraints of its warped oversized beast-suit.

Catalina flew right up to the beast, cool as you please, circling it barely five fathoms above its head. Diego watched her go in horror: he was used to the fact that his wife never seemed to feel awkward or afraid, but seeing her calmly surveying this blood-curdling nightmare as if it were some curio on display in the local oddity house made him question if she was even capable of a survival-based fear response. The other two stayed much further back, too stunned by the thought that that monstrosity had been within sight of their home just days before and would soon be near their son and granddaughter to give Catalina’s seeming bravery much mind.

Catalina returned from her circuit, gestured for Diego to join her, and pulled up alongside the other two. Hovering there in the air, the monster behind her continuing on its way unperturbed by their presence, Catalina said we’re at least three times faster than it, probably more when it’s climbing a ridge.

What is it? asked Oisha, her eyes fixed on it in terrified curiosity.

Catalina looked surprised. Isn’t it the kobakra? she asked, turning to Diego.

Diego didn’t know. He was more familiar than the others with tents and fires and cony traps and how to avoid entanglements with packs of wild dogs, but this was… well, it was a monster. He assumed it was the kobakra, but was hardly in a place to assert that with any confidence.

Fyodor, sensing Diego’s uncertainty, Catalina’s implicit trust in Diego, and Oisha’s need for answers, asked a question Diego could answer: Could those—feet? paws?—have made the tracks you saw in town?

Diego looked back at the monster, then to the group again. Hard to say, but maybe. Fyodor was mugging at him, clearly trying to add something without the others noticing, but Diego had no idea what. He shrugged and mouthed what? back to him.

Fyodor sighed internally. Diego was so dense sometimes. Is it the right size with the right kind of feet?

At least close to, said Diego. Hard to be certain without taking a casting. Was Fyodor trying to tell him to keep talking? Oisha did look freaked out and he had noticed that Fyodor could sometimes calm her down just by talking. But what was he supposed to say? One time I followed some stag tracks for almost two days before I found and killed the stag, but then I put one of its hooves into what I thought was its own tracks and it was too small; not a lot, mind you, but enough. There were actually two stags, not one, and I’d caught the smaller one instead of the larger!

What are you saying? asked Oisha. Are there two monsters and this is the smaller one?

No no, dear said Foydor reassuringly. There’s just one, this one, the kobakra we’ve been tracking. He’s just telling one of those hunting stories he likes to tell.

Catalina watched this back-and-forth with growing disbelief. What exactly she had expected to come out of pausing to talk she couldn’t have told you, but sharing stories about stags was definitely not it. We should go, she said, and without waiting for a reply turned on a course parallel to the kobakra’s and resumed flying.

Diego looked uncomfortably at the other two for a moment: he wasn’t clear on how, exactly, but it seemed to him that he had disappointed Fyodor and worried Oisha and probably should apologize or repair things, but apologize for what, exactly? And repair them how? The only clear path was to turn and follow Catalina, so he did, with the others following moments later.

For the next half hour or so Fyodor and Oisha talked about not knowing what they would tell their Dmitri and the rest of the town of Woodkettle. Sometimes this was borderline-terror doom talk, other times it was brainstorming ideas that didn’t seem likely to work. Once it became clear they were making no progress they sped up to get close enough to the others to engage them in the conversation.

How far out are we? Fyodor asked Diego, in part because he wanted to know and in part to ease into the conversation.

The maps aren’t as good this far out, replied Diego, but counting ridges I’d say under an hour. We made it farther yesterday than I’d expected.

Fyodor nodded. He felt like he should praise Diego and Catalina for managing that, but wasn’t sure exactly what to say. Instead, he asked the question that was foremost in his mind: And what’s the plan when we arrive?

Diego had been thinking about this too. Not exclusively, as navigating was becoming more uncertain the further they got from where his maps were made, but what to do when they reached their destination had been on his mind, on and off, since before breakfast.

Tell them to hide, he said, that being the only solution he’d come up with. Or maybe run, but they won’t have much time for that. Under an hour. Did you hear how it is a kobakra knows where to find young?

How? asked Fyodor.

Diego saw he’d been misunderstood. I don’t know, he said. Then he added I wish I did. It’s hard to know what to recommend if we don’t know how the monster operates.

There was an awkward silent moment.

For example? asked Catalina.

Sorry? said Diego.

Fyodor saw where she was going. Suppose we did know how it found young. What would you recommend then?

Oh, said Diego. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. Well, if it uses scent then running is pointless, it leaves a scent trail. We’d tell them to use a lot of soap, build smoky fires, and hide in cellars.

And if not scent? Fyodor prompted.

It can’t very well be sight, said Diego, because it broke into closed barns to get to lambs in Goldknob. But it could be touch—vibrations in the ground, that sort of thing. Running might be best if that’s it, or climbing trees, getting off the ground.

It did look up at me, Catalina said. I don’t think it’s blind.

So trees might not be a good idea, said Diego. But it could be hearing, too. Young tend to have faster heart rates and breathing than adults. Legends say kobakras will diverts out of their paths to move towards large groups of young, so they’d have to have really good hearing if it’s that. I don’t think we could beat it. I guess we’d propose a decoy or sacrifice if that was it.

Could it just be magic? asked Oisha asked. It looked very magical, the way it pulsed and changed and all.

Diego had no experience hunting magical things. Catalina?

Catalina shrugged. I’m no expert, she said, but I have talked to Gleams who can sense through magic. They describe it as an extra layer on usual senses, like how I can hear the flight sloshing in these barrels but you can’t: still just hearing, but extra.

So, Fyodor summed up, if it’s scent: wash up, build fires, and hide in cellars. But cellars are the worst place if it’s touch and pretty bad if it’s hearing. If it’s touch run, but that’s pointless if it’s scent. If its hearing we have no plan, and if it’s magic we don’t even know where to start. Is that about right?

Diego made an agreeing grunt, then added which is why I wish we knew which one it was.

They flew in silence for a time, each thinking about the futility of their mission and trying to think of any way of turning the tide.

We should kill it, said Oisha.

Diego and Fyodor made shocked noises at this.

Even if we knew, we’d have to kill it, she continued. It kills babies! It is literally a baby-killing monster. Suppose we got it past Woodkettle safely and watched it move on towards the next place: would you feel good about that? Would it feel like a victory?

That’s the mission, said Diego. We’re just ordinary people. I’ll be surprised if we can even save everyone in one town. We can’t kill a kobakra!

Why not? asked Oisha.

Did you see it? asked Diego, incredulous. Wasn’t Oisha the one who had been petrified with fear when she saw it from a distance? Whence this sudden heroism? It’s a magical monster the size of a house with magical hide and burning eyes and nonsensical legs and a warped weapon for a tail. How would we even go about it?

Cut it, said Catalina, surprising everyone by coming to Oisha’s aid. Stab it. Shoot it.

You think that would work?

Catalina shrugged. It was breathing, she said, puffing with effort as it scrambled over a boulder. I think it’s still a beast—cursed and monstrous, but if we hurt it enough I think it will die.

What if the curse protects it? asked Fyodor.

It might, agreed Catalina, but protection or healing would use up the curse’s power. It would take longer, but we could burn through its magic and then kill it.

Are you sure? asked Fyodor.

Catalina didn’t bother answering.

See? said Oisha. Catalina agrees: we should kill it.

Fyodor was not happy with this turn. He was scared. He thought this was foolish and likely to end in their demise, but his self-image didn’t let him be the one to say nay to something others endorsed. Catalina wasn’t scared, no surprise there, he wasn’t sure she even had emotions like fear. Oisha was scared, he knew, but for some reason also committed in that way where arguments against her choice would just make her more determined. He looked to Diego, who had been opposed to killing it at first, but could see he was relenting—no, had relented. Diego was clearly still mulling something over, but it wasn’t should we any more, it looked more like what’s the best way to. Fyodor looked to the future and saw himself dying in a kobakra’s mouth, or trampled under its feet, or flayed by its impossible tail. It seemed as inevitable as sunrise.

Diego was the next to speak. I think we’re half an hour from Woodkettle. If we turned around now to kill the kobakra, would we have enough flight afterward to make it to Woodkettle?

Catalina glanced at each barrel in turn, then said Probably not. We’d have to walk part of the way.

What if we stopped by Woodkettle, warned them, then went back to meet the kobakra?

Depends on how long we stay warning them, Catalina replied. The longer we stay, the shorter the trip. But I think we’d have plenty of flight for that.

Then here’s my proposal, said Diego. We go to Woodkettle, tell them a kobakra’s coming and they should take any young livestock they have and line them up as a bait trail that passes the town off to one side of it; then we fly back with anyone willing to join us and try to kill it.

If you’re sure we’ll have time, said Oisha.

We will, said Catalina.

Fyodor toyed momentarily with the hope that some great warrior in town would want to join the attack and would need a barrel and he could heroically give his up and— hah! As if. He looked his upcoming demise in the face and said I guess we’re doing this.