They weren’t attacked. They ran over the edge. Those shrieks were the tiny rat-lizards realizing what had happened. Shrieking to warn the others. To warn those who were too panicked to pay attention.
Some heard. Some understood. There’s trampled undergrowth all around the embankment from streams of colocolos breaking off and scattering. They’ve disappeared into the forest. Scores—maybe even hundreds—of survivors, rattled from their terrified rush, now running off to lead ordinary lives, no threat to Tamarel.
Some who fell over the edge also survived. I spot colocolos perched on every ledge and jutting stone, all finding ways to climb down the cliffside. They will be fine. Like the others, they’ll disperse, and the Dunnian Woods will have many more colocolos than it did yesterday, which could upset the ecosystem, but it’s not an imminent danger.
The rest, though? The rest went over the edge and perished at the bottom. One look at the heap and I quickly back away. I want to believe many are just stunned or unconscious. Some will be. But most are dead.
I remind myself that this is nature. Some animals are known to walk off cliffs or into bodies of water, and people think that makes them stupid. It doesn’t. While I’ve never been part of a true crowd—princes and princesses are always kept clear for safety—I’ve seen tightly packed throngs at festivals. Imagine if the earth opened up in front of them. They wouldn’t be able to see what was happening because they’re moving together as one body. That’s what happens occasionally in nature and even then, as with the colocolos, some at the back will realize the problem in time to stop.
This is nature, wonderful and terrible. When Dain glances over the cliff edge, I peek down to see hawks swooping in to grab dead colocolos. Weasels drag off more. Soon larger predators will come, and then the scavengers. It’s like the carnivores clearing away dead colocolos from the path—one good thing coming of the deaths. With the autumn days growing colder, this food will be welcomed by every predator anxious to gain winter weight.
When I say this to Dain, he nods. He seems to relax, too, as if he’d been worried about how I’d react. I love monsters. I hate to see them suffer. I hate to see them die. But I’m not a child who sees only cute and cuddly creatures coexisting in peace. I understand the cycle of life, and that is where I must find solace from the grief. What happened here was horrible for the colocolos, but a boon for predators and scavengers.
Malric nudges me. When I glance down, he looks in the direction of the distant cabin. Time to get back to Rhydd and the others. There’s no threat to Tamarel here.
The trail left by the stampede allows us to find our way back easily. The trouble might come in knowing where to stop, but I think I’ll recognize the landscape there. Dain says he definitely will.
We’ve been walking for maybe a half mile when I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost wander off the trail. Malric has to grab my tunic and yank me back. Jacko starts to topple off my head and then jumps down to chatter at the warg.
“You should be walking anyway,” Dain says to the jackalope. “You aren’t a baby.”
“It’s all right,” I say as I hoist Jacko up. I cradle him in my arms, and he snuggles against me, careful to keep his antlers from bashing my face.
“I don’t know how I walked off the path.” I laugh, but it comes out ragged. “Silly, huh?”
“Sun’s dropping.” He waves at the shadowy forest in front of us.
“We need to move, then. We can’t be out after dark.”
“It’ll be a long time before that.” He pauses. “Except that doesn’t help much, does it? Twilight’s more dangerous than night, because most predators hunt at dawn and dusk. What’s the word for it?”
I don’t answer.
“Cre-crep—” he says.
“Crepuscular.”
He snaps his fingers. “That’s it.”
He’s humoring me. I want to say I’m fine. It’s a lie. He can tell that by the way I’m lost in my thoughts, by the way I’m clutching Jacko, who’s nuzzling me, offering comfort. Even Malric trots at my side instead of hanging back like usual.
“You couldn’t have stopped the colocolos from going over that cliff, Rowan.”
“I know. I’m actually thinking of what made them panic in the first place. Of what drove the dropbears east. Something is…”
“Pushing them out,” he says. “Not drawing them in. Yes, I’ve joked about you being a monster magnet, but don’t go taking all the credit for this.”
I manage a half smile. I do have nightmares that all of Tamarel discovers they’re being invaded by monsters attracted by their new royal monster hunter’s overly strong clan blood. That isn’t true. If I seem to be a monster magnet, that’s because I’m always looking for them.
My “clan gift” is an affinity for monsters and an understanding of them. Even if there’s more to it, if I could possibly be giving off something, like a pheromone that draws them to me, there’s no way it’d attract monsters fifty miles away. That would be magic. There is no magic here, just science.
Science says there’s something else driving the monsters down. Something is happening in the mountains.
“What if I can’t fix it?” I blurt.
He glances over. “Fix…?”
I wave my arms. “This. Gryphons were bad enough, and I was pleased with myself for resolving that problem, so it’s like…it’s like the universe threw this one at me. Something I can’t fix.”
“You’re afraid of failing,” Dain says as I pet Jacko. “Afraid you can’t stop this problem, and Heward will use it as proof you aren’t fit to carry the ebony sword.”
Heward is my mother’s cousin. If I fail as royal monster hunter, his children—who are a
