BEHIND THEM, SMOKEJUMPER CAN HEAR Beetle and Henbane murmuring together.

    “What do you think that was?” Beetle asks.

    “I don’t know,” Henbane says, miserably. They managed to get her free with a swing of Halftruth’s scythe, severing the malformed courser’s head from its body. The vice-like jaws remained, attaching skull to Henbane’s bleeding neck, but the rest of the horses managed to disengage it and free her. Now she has the wound to back up a good, adventurer-worthy story, though, Smokejumper muses to themself. And was, really, vastly safe to begin with, so long as the skeletal creature hadn’t pushed completely through the bars. It sunk its teeth only into the crest of her neck, far away from vital veins or vertebrae.

    “It was kind of shadow-y,” Beetle continues, musing aloud. “Except its head.”

    “Yeah,” Henbane says, deadpan, “I saw its head pretty clearly.”

    “And it was a skeleton head.”

    “It was a skeleton head.” A pause. “Has anyone ever told you how observant you are?”

    “Don’t start,” Halftruth groans, a few steps behind Smokejumper. “Sometimes I wonder if you two even like each other.”

    Beetle and Henbane both retaliate immediately against this statement, voices clamoring together into an incomprehensible tangle.

    Smokejumper, sighing, tunes them out in favor of focusing on the path ahead. The smooth stone walkway, worn down by decades of travel, ends abruptly just to their right, falling away into a chasm of inky shadow. When they peer over the edge, they can see a bank of ghastly fog hovering just in view of the party’s meager light. Brimstone navigates just ahead of them, nose down and path arrow-straight. He pauses, every once in a while, to turn and wait for the party. When he does, his yellow eyes shine in the lantern-light strapped to Smokejumper’s chest.

    “Smoke.”

    Smokejumper flicks an ear back to acknowledge Halftruth.

    “Do you want to stop up here? We can check the maps and see if we know where we’re at.”

    Smokejumper grunts their answer (yeah, sure) and continues forward until the ledge widens enough to fit two horses side-by-side without too much anxiety – although they do position themself closer to the edge, and carefully nudge Halftruth over to the wall. She flashes them an amused look, nuzzling their cheek before leaning over to rustle through their packs. From one she draws a folded map, carefully unfolding it with Beetle’s help and setting it on the ground. Smokejumper places one cloven hoof on a corner and Henbane the other.

    Halftruth’s wisp, Aurae, sinks down to settle in front of the map, cold blue flame lighting it up so that the four horses can study it. “We’re here,” Halftruth says, motioning to a top corner of the map. “Or… we were.”

    “Why does it kind of… fade off?” Beetle mumbles, turning his ears back.

    Smokejumper snorts in amusement. “Because the horse who made this didn’t finish this part. Either intentionally or not.”

    Henbane fidgets. “So we don’t know what’s ahead?”

    “Nope!” Smokejumper straightens up, excitement coursing through their veins. “Shall we adventure into the unknown, then?”

    Beetle and Henbane share a dubious glance, as if wondering how crazy their mentor is. Halftruth stares at them in fond, quiet amusement. “Only if you’re leading us.”

    Smokejumper flicks the tuft of their long tail against her hip. “Always.”

    Map packed up safely once again, Smokejumper takes the lead, head low and strides sweeping in perfect mimic of the wolf trotting ahead of them. Brimstone stops, after a few moments, lifting his head. Smokejumper follows his gaze to a stone bridge that crosses the chasm. It vanishes into shadow halfway across. No telling how far it goes.

    They glance back, flicking their ears from the horses to the bridge. The other three stare at it in silence, and then one by one nod in silent vote.

    Ushering Brimstone back, Smokejumper takes the first few cautious steps.

    “Do you hear that?” Beetle asks. His voice echoes strangely here, as if muffled in some way.

    Smokejumper tilts their head, listening.

    “I don’t hear anything,” Halftruth says, after a moment. “What did you hear?”

    “Um.” Smokejumper glances back to see Beetle standing, stock-still, hooves planted. Next to him, Henbane is peering over the edge, down into the chasm. “It was a voice, I think.”

    Henbane twitches one ear towards him. “I think I heard it, too.”

    Halftruth and Smokejumper share a glance. Peering over the edge, Smokejumper finds the fog has risen, reaching for the bridge in a dense bank of pale white. If they strain, they can almost hear something calling out from within.

    “That,” Beetle says, excited. Smokejumper glances down to him pressing his chest against the stone. As he does, pieces of masonry shift under his weight, crumbling into the abyss.

    “Beetle,” Smokejumper says warningly. He doesn’t even glance at them.

    “Can’t you hear them?”

    Behind him, Henbane leans over the edge, too, ears pricked. Smokejumper darts a frantic look with Halftruth. Wordlessly, the two older coursers split up – Halftruth to Henbane and Smokejumper to Beetle.

    Wedging their shoulder under Beetle’s chest, Smokejumper pushes him back. He flicks a glance at her, gaze frantic. “You don’t hear it?”

    “I hear something, yes,” they say. Beetle relaxes, ever so slightly. He goes to move forward again, but Smokejumper pushes him back, angling him so that he moves down the bridge, too. Glancing behind them, they can see Halftruth doing the same with Henbane. “What are they saying to you?”

    Beetle tilts his head in confusion. “Why are we still on the bridge?”

    Smokejumper swallows the nugget of fear working its way up their throat. “What?”

    “It’s safe down there,” Beetle insists. “They said so. We can jump down there. There’s good things for us down there.”

    “Yeah!” Henbane interrupts. “Why are we still on this thing? It’s falling apart. It’s dangerous.” She ducks Halftruth to lean over the edge again. More stone crumbles under her pushing weight. “See? These stones could really hurt us. But down there –”

    Smokejumper flattens their ears. Murmuring voices press into the back of their mind, growing louder by the second. “Stop. Both of you. We are crossing this damned bridge and that’s an order. Do you hear me?”

    For a second, it seems like their stern tone may snap the two coursers out of it. They turn to look at Smokejumper, blinking in disorientation, only to turn back to the chasm.

    Smokejumper shoots a look at Halftruth. “Are you starting to hear them?”

    Halftruth nods, tight lines around her eyes. “They keep telling me how powerful I’ll be. We need to hurry, before they get through to me and you.”

    “Alright,” Smokejumper murmurs, moving to block Beetle from a spot where the bridge has crumbled into oblivion. “Alright. Start herding them.”