Night thinned until it was only a cool skin on the stones. Frost held to the rails and to the tips of the roof tiles. The lantern by the outer hall was a small bead of light. It breathed when the wind touched it and then was still.
I lay on the warmest stone near the gate. The warmth was small but steady. My breath showed and broke apart. The mark at my throat answered the hidden moon with a quiet glow. The bell inside my chest hummed back.
Below the steps the thing in the pines had not left. It had waited all night. It kept its breath low so it would not smoke in the cold. It smelled of fur and old blood. It also carried the thin iron taste left behind by the cut call from last night.
A door slid inside the inner hall. Wood settled. Elder Lin stood at the inner post with his hands in his sleeves. He listened to the house. He crossed the yard without hurry. He touched the big bell through its paper sleeve, not to ring it, only to greet it. He set a small brazier by the threshold. He placed a coal inside until it carried a calm red.
Jin came out with kindling. His step was careful. He watched the elder's hands as if they were a lesson he would be asked about later.
"Little one," Elder Lin said. His eyes stayed on the threshold. "Keep your place. Not inside. Not outside. Here."
I stood with my front paws on the threshold and my back paws on the court. The mark at my throat warmed. The bell inside me listened.
The sky in the east became a pale line. Cold light touched the high stones. The thing below climbed the last turn and stopped just out of sight. Its breath came up the steps and folded back as if it had met a hand.
It moved again.
Claws tested stone. Heavy and patient. It slid along the wall and showed one eye under the arch and then a shoulder. It was longer than the beast from the night before. Its fur stood in a narrow ridge along its back. Its teeth were stained by work. It set one paw on the step inside the arch and let its weight settle a little at a time.
I lowered my head. I kept a low sound in my chest. Not a bark. Not a howl. The sound made the air in front of me firm.
The paw paused.
"Easy," Elder Lin said to the house. He nudged one stray grain of salt into the thin line he had laid at the threshold. Then he took his hand away.
The beast turned its head toward the hinge as if it wished to test the gate with its mouth. I stepped forward until my breath touched the cold. The mark at my throat brightened. A thin white lay across the first step. It looked like moonlight that had chosen to stay. The beast's claws scraped at that light and did not cross.
A door moved in the guest hall. The trader with the soft smile stood in the doorway. He watched. His breath carried the same thin wire scent as last night. It was softer now under tea and warm air.
"Elder," he said in a careful tone. "There is danger at your gate."
"There is," Elder Lin said. "We will see who invited it."
The beast pushed again. It went for my throat because many throats are the same. It found the wrong place. The mark there held. My jaw opened and shut without thought. I bit at the thin taste of the old call where it slept at the join of neck and shoulder. For a blink it tasted like hot iron and sour smoke. Then it was nothing. The taste died the moment it knew it had been found.
The beast jerked as if waking in a strange room. For half a breath its eyes were only eyes. I leaned my weight and knocked it sideways. It slid and bumped the step. It found its feet again with stiff shame.
Elder Lin lifted his palm over the thin white on the stone. He moved his hand as if he lifted a curtain. The light followed his fingers. It rested over the beast's muzzle like a strap. It did not bind. It reminded.
"Back," he said in a steady voice. "Leave by the way you came. Your hunger is not fed here."
I kept my teeth at the skin without pressure. The lesson stayed close. The beast backed one step and then another. At the turn it looked up and made a low sound that meant I will remember. It did not decide whether that meant fear or promise. It went into the pines and let the needles take its scent.
The thin white across the step faded. The bell inside my chest let its note go. The mark at my throat cooled to its small light.
Elder Lin touched my head with two fingers. He did it once and then let his hand fall. Jin let out the breath he had been holding. He loosened his hands inside his sleeves.
The trader cleared his throat. "You have a fine guardian," he said. He tried to make the word sound respectful and not greedy.
"We do," Elder Lin said.
The trader's fingers brushed the edge of his cloak. A clever fold could hide a small thing there. I yawned and looked dull the way a dog looks when it is only a dog. He liked that.
"Tea," Elder Lin told Jin. "For the guards. For our guests. For Elder Song."
Jin ran to the kitchen. Relief lived in his feet.
Elder Lin set the coal upright with the tongs. He lifted a small clay bowl from the shelf and placed it back again. He did these simple things with the quiet of many winters.
He looked at me. "Walk with me. Only a little."
We went down to the second turn. The snow held round paw prints and a long shoulder smear. We found one more thing. There was a faint trace on the snow where the cut call had dragged before I bit it. It left the path and entered a stand of pines. It stopped at two small stones that had been balanced and then had fallen in the night.
The top stone still held the smell of resin and hair and a breath that had learned to nest inside a small thing. The same breath that rode on the trader's cloak.
We did not touch the stones. Elder Lin looked until the picture sat clear in his mind.
"Verdant Hollow does not send only words," he said. He spoke it as a fact and left it to sit in the morning air.
Back at the gate the sect woke for true day. Brooms scratched. Water splashed. The teacher with the river face set the practice blades in a straight line. Elder Song warmed her fingers by the stove and told them to be kind to thread. Jin carried tea to the wall guard and to the guests and to Elder Song and to Elder Lin. When he passed me he made a small bow and kept his eyes on the cup so it would not spill.
The traders packed. The scarred man tightened a strap and frowned at the road without knowing why. The hungry man ate a tangerine and hid the peel in his pocket. The smiling man patted his pack the way men pat friends. He bowed to Elder Lin in the court.
"We thank the sect for its warmth," he said. "We will tell Verdant Hollow your slopes are quiet."
His eyes went to my throat and then to the step and back to his own shoes. They left.
When their backs turned the last corner, Elder Lin let his shoulders rest. He looked at me and at Jin and at the gate.
"We will hang the second bell tonight," he said. "We may hang the third if the wind asks for it."
He went to speak with the teacher about forms. Jin emptied the brazier ash into the bucket that waits for the garden. I walked the wall and let the yard settle.
A new sound came from the far ridge. It was low and wrong. It was not our bell. It was a bone horn. It sent three notes across the cold air. The last note wavered like heat on stone.
The mountain did not answer. The pines answered with a soft shiver that moved through their needles.
A new scent rode the north path. It was not resin and not wire. It was ink and wax and clean cloth. It carried the weight of a crest.
The mark at my throat warmed. The bell inside my chest touched its scabbard.
Something from Verdant Hollow was on the road.
In the trees beyond our wall a second shape lifted its head. It chose our gate and began to move.