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With a deep breath, the bear stood tall on his hind legs. He threw himself forward so that the weight of his body would carry him into the unmagic.

It was like falling into a frozen lake, as if the ice were shattering all around him and shards of frozen unmagic were slicing into him.

But he could hear the hound howling after him.

He dragged one paw forward toward the doe, sensing the life of the fawn beneath his claws. But it was fading. It would be gone if he did not act quickly.

He poured all of his energy, all of his own life, into one movement to press his claw into the abdomen of the doe.

It was not blood that spilled out, or any fluid that he recognized. It was the gray death itself, turned into a foaming gray gas that saturated his senses and made him choke for breath.

But when it had passed, he looked down and saw a hoof, then two.

The fawn seemed to have more strength than he did now.

It climbed out of the cavity of its mother’s death and then faltered.

The hound leaped forward and tugged on the fawn’s forelegs to get it moving away from its mother, away from the cold death.

The fawn took two steps forward, almost past the worst of the unmagic.

Then the hound somehow made her way to the edge of the unmagic herself and, barking, threatening, and dragging, pulled the fawn through to where there was green showing on the forest floor.

She looked over at the bear, her eyes so fierce that he knew she would try to come for him next. He would have to move if he did not wish her to endanger herself for him.

He bared his teeth and growled at her. Not much of a growl, perhaps, but it kept her back.

Then, inch by inch, he pulled himself forward.

After that it seemed easier. He lunged past the dark gray line of the unmagic and found himself face-to-face with the fawn. It blinked at him, utterly unaware that it should be terrified and shrink away from the bear who might devour it.

He turned to the hound and thought of how often he had wished to die and had been unable to. Now he had never wished so much to live.

The hound helped the fawn on its way. It scampered deeper into the forest, away from the unmagic. Even so young a creature had the instinct to flee that if it could. But how long would the fawn last here, without a mother to protect and feed it? How soon would the unmagic spread to the whole forest?

Well, the bear would do what he could for it and for the other forest creatures, even if it meant facing the worst, the wild man.

The urgency with which the bear moved away from the forest was now hot and pressing. Night came and went, and still he kept on pushing himself, past Kendel, past Sarrey, into the north. The hound struggled to keep up with him and he thought only that it would be better for her to stay behind. He had no wish for her to meet the wild man and pay for mistakes she had not made.

Then, one evening, he could not see her or even hear her behind him. He had his first taste of what it was like to be without her. The loneliness clawed at his throat. Still, he forced himself on and told himself she would at least be safe without him.

But she caught up with him that night as he walked under the stars of a cooling summer sky. She was covered with dried sweat and her tongue fell out of her mouth as she panted. Her eyes were red and swollen and she moved as if one paw were lame.

His first feeling was a selfish pleasure at the sight of her.

And then he felt ashamed of himself. Had he not learned to care for others, to wish for what was best for them instead of for himself?

She looked at him, head to one side, and he lifted his head, turned his back to her, and kept on going.

It seemed the only way to protect her from the wild man and from magic ruining her life once more.

But the hound followed him and he could hear her struggle with her left hind leg, injured by the bears in the spring, dragging more and more.

He felt sick himself with the pace he had set, but he knew the hound must fall back before he could take any