They spent the morning tracking it.
Signs came slow — a half-shredded bush, a deep gouge in the dirt, a broken trail of claw marks near a game path.
A predator.
Large.
Confident.
The wind moved lazily through the early brush, carrying a scent like turned soil and old blood. Small birds flitted between branches overhead, but their calls were sparse, cautious.
Talo moved carefully ahead of her, teaching as he went — pointing out where the grasses were bent low, where the earth had been churned by something heavy.
They found a print near a dry creek-bed: broad, deep, with two distinct, forward-curving grooves slashing the dust where its teeth had dragged close to the ground. Flies buzzed quietly nearby, drawn to old markings.
Rasha crouched beside it, studying the mark, feeling her pulse steady.
It was close.
Talo said little now — only the necessary words.
"You know what to do," he murmured, voice stripped of all pretense.
She nodded once, then slipped forward alone, daggers drawn, breath tight in her chest.
The creature revealed itself moments later — lunging from behind a crumbling ridge.
It was larger than she expected — a hulking thing with sandy fur, powerful shoulders, and two long, saber-like teeth curving down from its upper jaw. Its scent hit her next — pungent, musky, wild.
Its muscles rippled under its hide, and its yellow eyes gleamed with wild hunger.
Rasha moved first — instinct taking over.
She ducked a swipe of its massive paw, rolled aside, and slashed low across its flank.
The blade glanced off tough hide — barely a cut.
It spun, roaring, striking again.
She darted back, heart hammering, trying to find an opening.
But the beast was strong.
Brutally strong.
Every blow shook the ground, every lunge forced her backward.
Her daggers were quick — faster than its heavy claws — but she couldn't find the angle she needed.
And she was tiring.
The beast drove her toward a shallow hollow, snarling, froth on its lips.
It charged.
She dodged — barely.
The edge of a claw ripped across her side, tearing cloth, scraping skin.
She staggered, gasping, feeling blood warm her ribs.
From the ridge, Talo shifted — about to move.
She caught the motion from the corner of her eye.
And with everything she had, Rasha shouted, "No!"
Their eyes locked across the field.
Talo froze — fists clenched, pain raw on his face.
Rasha turned back to the creature, wiping blood from her mouth.
She knew, down to her bones —
This fight was hers.
This was the cost of becoming.
The beast lunged again, roaring low and deep.
This time, she was ready.
Drawing in a deep breath, she summoned the precision she had spent weeks refining.
The fire stirred inside her — not wild, not raging — but sharp, focused.
It answered not like a servant, but a partner.
She willed it outward, a concentrated burst that coated her blades, sharpening the edges in a shimmer of heat barely visible to the eye.
The fire did not flare or crackle.
Instead, it clung to the stone like a second skin — thin, keen, and deadly.
As the beast closed the distance, Rasha stepped sideways, angling her blade with the enhanced edge.
One slash — fast, deliberate — cut deeper this time, slicing through the thick hide where before it had only glanced off.
The creature recoiled, snarling, confused by the sudden sharpness that had not been there before.
Rasha pressed forward.
The second dagger struck lower, aiming just behind the beast's heavy shoulder.
The heated aura extended the cut, tearing into muscle with brutal efficiency.
Still, it wasn't enough to drop it.
The creature twisted in fury, battering toward her with a sweep of its paw.
She ducked under it, planted her foot, and drove upward — both daggers sinking deep into the vulnerable point under its jaw, where bone and muscle thinned.
The beast let out a strangled roar, staggered — and fell.
Heavy.
Final.
The dust settled slowly around them.
Rasha stood over the body, chest heaving, blood dripping down her arms, the light of her fire flickering faintly before dimming away.
No triumph.
No gloating.
Only the heavy, real truth:
She had survived.
She had faced death — and she had answered.
Talo approached slowly, wariness and pride warring across his face.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
He saw everything.
"You're ready," he said, voice rough.
But even as he spoke, something shifted deep within him.
He saw it clearly now —
Being her shield would never be enough.
He needed to be the sword, too.
The hand that cut danger away before it could even touch her.
Her Guardian, yes — but also her Warrior.
They stood over the creature for a moment longer.
Rasha frowned slightly, studying it — the heavy shoulders, the strong curve of its teeth.
Recognition sparked quietly in her chest.
"This..." she murmured. "This is the beast my best form was named after."
Talo glanced at her, a slow grin pulling at the edge of his mouth.
"Fate's got a funny way of setting things right," he said.
They spent the next stretch of time working together to tie up the fallen creature.
The beast was heavy, nearly unmovable at first.
They looped ropes around its thick forelimbs, braced their weight, and began the long, grueling drag across uneven ground.
The sun climbed higher, baking the world in sharp light.
Their boots slipped and skidded, muscles straining.
Breath came in short, hard gasps.
Still, they pressed on — a little farther, a little farther — until they found a hollow tucked against a line of boulders, shaded by a clutch of thorned trees.
A good place to work.
Safe enough to rest.
They dropped the ropes, panting.
Talo wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm and let out a low grunt.
"Not bad," he muttered, half to himself.
He looked over at Rasha — still breathing hard, blood drying against her ribs but standing steady, her knives at her belt.
"You really did it," he said.
She glanced at him, brows raised.
"I thought that was the idea."
Talo chuckled under his breath.
"No. I mean... you didn't just survive it. You beat it. Controlled the fight. Adapted."
He kicked a loose stone out of the way and started unpacking the basic tools they would need to harvest the beast later.
"You're not the same girl that left the desert's edge," he said quietly. "You're faster. Sharper. Smarter."
Rasha crouched beside him, helping to sort their knives and bundles of cord.
"I had a good teacher," she said.
He shrugged, still grinning.
"You had a good teacher," he agreed. "But you did the work."
There was a quiet pride in his voice that warmed her in ways she didn't fully understand yet.
Together, they started preparing the space — clearing a patch of earth, gathering stones for a fire ring.
The weight of the day hung around them, but it wasn't heavy.
It was earned.
It was right.
As they worked, Talo stole a glance at her — bloodied, bruised, stubbornly alive.
And he thought:
Whatever came next, whatever waited beyond that bridge...
She was ready.
And so was he.