The Terron camp smells like rotting meat, old blood, straw and the wretched stink of men. He cannot help bristling as he paces the tent in narrow circles; these ugly villages irritate Ruh for leaving their mark on the jungle. The only comfort is in Tao, who still vaguely smells of the Sanctuary and fresh herbs, but even this is nearly overpowered by the scent of sick and sweat and fear.

The human burns. Inside, outside, in the cracked skin at his mouth. Ruh growls, low in his chest, and calls out to Dar in the darkness. Dar's skittish fawn is suffering. This is Dar's business, not Ruh's.

Ruh is not a babysitter. No longer will he be content to stay behind at Dar's order, to protect the one called Tao, to huddle and hide when he should be at Dar's side. This is foolish. The crows cackle at him outside and Ruh's skin is a shifting, uncomfortable thing over his muscles.

Tao stirs in the straw, his glassy eyes only visible in Ruh's nocturnal sight. He does not bleed, but there is illness in him, a living snake. Ruh glances at him and continues to pace. Tao watches.

It is taking far too long. Ruh will go, he will—

"I'm sorry," whispers Tao. Ruh knows these words—Dar has said them often enough, in this very tone, that Ruh recognizes each through sound alone. There is gratitude, and shame, and the boy is afraid. Ruh knows a few of these emotions, although the last he has little but scorn for, finding it useless. And yet.

The men outside are shouting.

Ruh flicks his tail, impatient. Then he goes to Tao and heaves a loud breath. The message is clear: there is no happiness, but he will stay. Tao's fingers touch his flank, so gently that Ruh finds himself irrationally cautious of them, and then slip away. Soft murmurs, indecipherable to Ruh but familiar from so long journeying together, fill the small tent and their time. Man noises annoy Ruh, but he does not have to listen and they seem to calm Tao.

When Dar finally comes, breath rattling in his chest and worry fierce in his jaw, Ruh stands once more and slinks across towards the exit. I will not hide again, he says, yellow eyes boring hard into Dar's.

Sometimes Dar talks with his face, not his words. He does this now.

Protect what is yours. Ruh can taste the death in the air, knows his dinner is waiting beyond, and is impatient to get there. He snarls in his throat. You do not mark him well enough.

"And how would I do that?" Dar asks softly, crouching next to Tao. Tao smiles hazily at him. Ruh cocks his head, eyes half-mast.

With your eyes. With your claws and teeth. Roll him in your scent and when they take him, take back their masks, their leg, their eyes—

He says this because he knows. And Dar, who nods without ever taking his gaze off of the human in his arms, knows, too. Ruh waits until the fawn is speaking in slurs again before he vanishes into the dark, mind already at his next meal.