“Suncatcher,” her mentor, and Knots’, too, “he told me about this once.”

Knots gives her a curious look. “I haven’t heard it.”

The quiet chamber sends prickles down the length of Duskwalker’s spine. Her skin twitches, trying to shiver the feeling away. She can’t smell anything except for the mustiness of old junk left to rot in the dungeon’s depths, and Knots’ flared nostrils and twitchy ears haven’t picked up anything, either. Still, she can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

The only way in or out is behind them, and the path is littered with pieces of leather armament and rusting steel. A breadcrumb trail to two curious coursers, they had followed it, one after the other, into this chamber. The center of which features a tall pillar of stone, the walls belling out around it into a cathedral of slick black rock. More detritus crowds up against the sides, spilling into the trodden path. A cursory glance tells Duskwalker that almost all of it is pieces of horse armor, but some pieces are small and oddly shaped, and in between all of it is the yellow-white jut of bones.

Knots nudges her.

“Right.” Duskwalker drags her gaze away from the lamplight flickering along the shadows of an exposed ribcage. Above the two coursers, mounted proudly on the stone pillar, is a horse’s skull. “Coursers and humans – they didn’t speak the same language. So, they had to find other ways to talk to each other, and this was one of them.” The leather on the courser’s skull is warped and cracking from its decades-long thirst, but the jewels and tarnished silver on it still sparkle dully in the light of her and Knots’ lamps. Between the courser’s teeth is a bar of metal. The sides of it are long and straight, following the line of the jaw. The rings at the end trail short pieces of rotting leather.

Knots blows a breath at these pieces and watches them wobble. “How does that even work?”

Duskwalker tilts her head, trying to remember what Suncatcher told her. The older courser tends to talk a lot, and a much younger Duskwalker had even less patience for it than she does now.

“Pressure, I think. The human sat on the courser’s back-” Knots makes a weird noise “-and held those leather strips in its hands. And it would pull them in the direction the courser should go.”

Knots stares up at it, grinding his teeth and licking his lips as if he’s imagining himself in the dead courser’s place. “I don’t like it,” he finally states with a full-body shudder. “It would be weird to have that thing in your mouth.”

“I don’t know.” Duskwalker eyes the skull and the bridle that, in another time, would have glinted and shined. She wonders, what did the rest of their tack look like? Someone cared about this horse a great deal. “It doesn’t sound that bad.”

Knots gives her a look. “Speak for yourself,” he says, and steps away to investigate the rest of the chamber. A moment later, she hears him rustling around in the debris.

Duskwalker steps away, too, to inspect the discarded armor in the chamber closer and see if she can find the set that belonged to the skull. A cold breeze drifts through, skimming along her side and then darting away. The feeling from earlier hasn’t alleviated. Instead, she can feel its unwelcome presence growing heavier and heavier.

From a crack in the earth high above, the harvest moon slots into frame, spilling bloody light into the cavern. There’s a skittering sound of hooves on stone, and then Knots is pressed against her side, breathing hard. A spare glance reveals his wide nostrils and rolling white-rimmed eyes. “I don’t like it here,” he says. “Something isn’t right.”

Duskwalker fidgets. Something isn’t right. “It’s just the moon.” Looking around, she realizes its glow has turned the chamber into something more gruesome. The yellow-white flash of bone has turned red as fresh gore, and the light washes over the armor in the same scarlet wash, spilling down and pooling into the floor's low spots. Lit from above and below, the skull’s eye sockets have turned into dark pits. The chill washes over her again.

Something clatters behind them. Moving in sync, Duskwalker and Knots jump forward and whirl around, discarded items clattering around their hooves. Duskwalker pulls herself up tall and snorts, the explosive sound echoing in the hollow chamber.

From the only entrance comes a ghastly white courser.

Except, no –

Its head hangs low, skull exposed and lower jaw slack and hanging. Its hooves drag across the ground with every step, flicking out just before setting down without even a click against the stone. And its eyes – empty sockets that ooze scarlet light like tear tracks down its face.

Knots scrambles backwards in wordless horror. Duskwalker steps in front of him just as the specter’s head jerks up. The hanging jaw wobbles, then clicks closed. Its teeth, she sees now, are as sharp and pointed as a wolf’s. Turning those piercing eyes towards the two coursers, it advances.

Suncatcher is still on Duskwalker’s mind, which is why, without even thinking until the words are out of her mouth, she hisses to Knots, “Stop! Don’t… move.”

“Why?” Knots asks, voice up an octave.

“Trust me,” she pleads back. He hesitates, then shuffles just a little closer again so that he presses up against her.

Suncatcher had told her, once, that predators like the chase – that they won’t hunt without it. The running triggers their instincts, and they must pursue. That even a wolf will ignore a fawn if it just stands there and trembles, too confused to kill it. She only knows this: that this monster is a predator, that it is blocking their only exit, and if they try to capture it for the Harvester, they will fail.

Woefully unprepared, comes to mind.

They stand there, unmoving, as it advances, bringing that unnatural chill with it. Its fleshless head raises when it comes to Duskwalker, glowing eye sockets meeting her unflinching gaze. Up close, she can see that its hide is stretched thin over its bones. Its shoulder blades are sharp as blades and the spaces between its pronounced ribs are as taught as drumskin. Distracted, she doesn’t realize it’s leaning forward until it’s too late.

The coldness of the specter presses against her jugular and goes still. Duskwalker’s blood rushes through her like galloping hooves, thrumming all the way down to her bones.

“Dusk,” Knots breathes. “Dusk.”

Through gritted teeth, Duskwalker replies, “Don’t. Move.”

The monster doesn’t move, either. No breath wafts against her coat, but the icy chill of its presence spreads across her like a cutting winter wind. Its sharp teeth flash again through her mind, and she closes her eyes briefly, trying not to envision how close they hover to her throat.

The stillness breaks. It takes everything in her to not flinch backwards when the beast moves, tilting forward to press its cold skeleton jaws against the side of her neck.

A push. It leans backwards, staring. Waiting. When Duskwalker still doesn’t move, it cocks its head far to the left. A clicking gurgle rolls through its throat, choked gasps and half-words until finally she hears it whisper, “Run.”

Knots trembles against her flank. She can hear his heartbeat, too, off from the rhythm of hers by only a second, so that their combined blood roars in her ears without let-up.

A click. Its jaw hangs loose again, swaying as it moves towards Knots. With the sharp points of its nasal bone, it shoves into his shoulder.

“Don’t… don’t move, Knots, please.”

Knots’ voice is very small when he replies, “I trust you.” He doesn’t budge an inch, and the specter lurches backwards to pace a short, stiff circle under view of the bridled skull.

This time, when it speaks, its voice pitches high with frustration, “Run!” It rears, slamming its hooves into the stone. When the two coursers still don’t move, it grunts, tossing its head from one side to the other.

“Run,” it mutters again, turning away. Duskwalker watches as it rummages through the items in the chamber, jerking its head to toss things aggressively against the walls. Far above them, the moon is starting to slide away, taking its bloody glow with it.

The specter seems to notice this, too. Its unnatural stillness returns and then, slowly, it points its nose to the ceiling. “Run.” Hooves dragging out behind it in long, scraping lines, it leaves the chamber, grunting and mumbling the whole way.

Duskwalker waits until the noise fades into the distance before relaxing. Knots, just behind her, nearly collapses, knees buckling before he catches himself and drags himself back up. Despite the cold, she can see the sweat darkening his neck and shoulders. “We can run now, right?”

Duskwalker dances on her hooves. “No. Just in case it sees us. Go slow. I’ll tell you when we can run.” Nudging him ahead of her, she follows him out of the chamber. Just before she leaves, she looks over her shoulder at the bridled skull. Despite its eyeless nature, she can’t help but feel like it was, and still is, watching the scene unfold.

Just before she leaves it behind, the harvest moon slides completely away, and the chamber plunges into darkness.

Pushing Knots ahead of her, Duskwalker waits until she deems them both far enough away, and then turns to stare hard at the path behind them.

“Do you see anything?” Knots murmurs, coming up beside her.

Duskwalker swishes her tail. “No.”

“Run?”

Duskwalker doesn’t answer, spinning around. She waits again for Knots to overtake her, and the two coursers fly through the dungeon as fast as they dare, slowing only when the terrain demands it. Her lungs start to burn, and Knots begins to flag, but they push through the last stretch and burst into the cool nighttime air of the surface.

Knots sags, breathing heavy. Out here, there’s no hiding from the harvest moon. Red-orange light spills over everything. The reds of his coat are even more red than usual, the dark patches turned onyx in the darkness. Duskwalker shoves her nose into his neck and breathes deep.

“We can’t let that thing wander the dungeon,” Knots says eventually.

“No,” Duskwalker agrees, lifting her head to stare at the dungeon entrance. “We should go home and get some help, first. And then we’ll bring that thing to the harvester.”

He nods and nudges her own neck with his nose. Together, the two of them walk away, leaning on each other as they go.