Oryen hurried off to the arena. The open amphitheatre was a humid oven. An obstacle course had been set—beams erected in hurdles, poles spaced evenly to be woven between.

They were all much too large for humans, and Oryen suddenly understood what Beau meant by 'Don't fall off.'

All his years as a Fen hadn't prepared him for the sight of so many wolves in one place. They sped through the course, kicking up dust, claws leaving deep trenches in the dirt. On their backs, keeping with their movements and holding onto their hackles, were their teammates.

Oryen's nerves spiked. It had never occurred to him that faylan was played with half the team in wolf form, and the other half riding on their backs. The riders were dwarfed. They had to keep low when their partner slid under beams or risk losing their heads. If they fell during a particularly high jump, it was a long way to the ground. Everywhere he looked, there were opportunities for concussions, broken bones or worse.

That did not unnerve Oryen as much as the riders' state of dress. Most had shed their shirts to combat the August heat. Not all of them, but most.

Lazro had warned him it might be dangerous, but he'd never imagined this.

Reyz stood at the edge, hands behind his back, observing the tryouts with a crooked smile. The smile broadened when he saw Oryen.

"Are you here to tryout?" he asked, excitement palpable.

"That's the idea," Oryen said.

"Would have thought you'd want to join the Storm Crows." Reyz gave him a quick, assessing look that was not nearly so acerbic as Beau's. "Not that I'm complaining. I've heard you're pretty strong for a newborn."

"Well, Kalysto's the captain, see," Oryen explained. "And she'd probably rather get a lobotomy than let me on the team."

"Ha! Yeah, that sounds like my Kaly. I won't complain if Lazro's bro wants to play for me. But we should see how you do, first. Oi, NEEV!" Reyz shouted. In response, one of the wolves—tawny brown with a dark dorsal stripe—peeled away from the course and came their way. Her rider, a sunburnt ginger bloke, dismounted, wiping sweat from his forehead. Neev seemed to be panting more from the heat than exertion.

"Sorry, Kilke, you're out," Reyz announced. The ginger squawked in protest but Reyz held up a hand to quell the argument. "Go trade a half pint for some aloe vera and get out of here." Then he turned to Neev. "We're going to show Oryen here the ropes. You can throw your shirt over here, Oryen."

"Uhh," Oryen hesitated, folding his arms over his chest like a modest maid. "I'm shy."

Reyz rolled his eyes. "Newborns. You'll be roasting, but suit yourself. We'll go over the rules of the game later. For now, ever ridden a horse?"

"No."

"Good. It's nothing like that. Now mount up."

Oryen looked dubiously at Neev, who stood six and a half feet at the shoulder. Reyz took a fistful of her hackles in his hand to demonstrate. "Grab as much fur as you can hang onto and jump. You'll have to get your chest up first. Then swing your leg over her ass."

Oryen privately thought, or she could lie down first. Taking a measured breath, Oryen buried a hand in the fur of Neev's nape. The sheer heat trapped within was stifling. It felt eerie, to be this near the sort of creature he'd seen viciously attack, maim, and kill fellow soldiers.

Taking a few mini hops, Oryen jumped up. It was not one smooth and continuous motion but an inefficient scramble, legs kicking. Neev stumbled a little with the force of his pull. Once astride her back, the world seemed very far away. Her body heat radiated through him. He was already sweating. Why didn't they do this in winter? She felt solid beneath him though, and from this vantage Oryen couldn't help but feel something nameless and exultant.

Reyz watched the indignity of his ascent. "We'll work on it. You'll need to be able to jump up there anytime you're knocked off. You don't want to be underfoot with a dozen werewolves stampeding around. Now, bend your knee, heels up. Don't leave your legs dangling—makes it too easy for another player to pull you off. You want to be as small a target as possible. Stay low over her neck."

Oryen followed the instructions until he had the right form. Reyz patiently explained how important it was to connect with your partner, to feel with your whole body, to trust them, to anticipate their movements. Oryen listened dutifully.

"Now, for your first test," Reyz finished, looking devious. "Just try to stay on."

He put his fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. Neev sprang forward. Oryen nearly went over her neck with the force of recoil. He righted himself and regripped the loose skin and fur of her nape as hard as he dared. Her gait was far from smooth—every strike of her paws against the earth went through him like a hammer strike. She ripped around the perimeter of the arena, giving him time to adjust to the speed and pace. Oryen could just see over her neck and between her ears. After one lap he said, "I think we should try the course."

Together, they slid beneath low-hanging beams, dodged moving targets, bounded over hurdles. Oryen thought surely that she'd be doing the lion's share of the work, but he found he had to hold his body in a constant state of tension and flexibility, allowing both the smooth motions and the sudden ones to flow through him. Adrenaline thrilled through his veins. Perhaps it was dangerous, but he had to admit it was also fun.

Then Neev looped round and headed for a jump—the tallest jump on the course. Oryen thought, no way. It's nearly as tall as she is. She picked up speed. Gravel scraped under her paws and spat out behind them. Every muscle in her shoulders bunched right before she sprang, legs tucked, flying over the jump in an arc. Neev descended as Oryen floated off her back, briefly suspended. The ground passed beneath them very very far away. Then she landed, the impact jolting through Oryen's tailbone. He teetered like a rocking horse and clumsily regained his balance. Graceless, but he hadn't fallen.

The course done, Neev loped back to where Reyz stood, watching them pensively.

Oryen hoped it would be enough. He wasn't sure how else he'd prove himself to Lazro and the other Alphas, if not here.

"That was terrible," Reyz said. "But for a first timer, not bad."

"Don't have to go easy on me," Oryen said with a rueful laugh.

"I think we should pit you against one of ours and see how you fare, how's that?" Reyz whistled again and called a name Oryen barely registered, and in response a slate gray wolf came over. Evrynne sat astride her, wearing a grin and, unlike many others, a shirt.

"Gutsy of you, trying out when you're still human," Evrynne said.

"We're going to have a practice scrap," Reyz explained. "First of you that manages to unseat the other makes the team. Go."

A hot sensation burned its way up Oryen's lungs and throat. Now? He'd barely stayed on for the course, how was he meant to—?

Evrynne rushed him. Neev spun out of the way and jerked her shoulder once, sharply, as though to tell Oryen to wake up. Then she took off at a run after their quarry, who were turning around for another go. Like jousting knights, they ran for each other, only they had no javelin or tool with which to unseat the other. Oryen's opponent had a hand up, ready to snatch at any part of Oryen he could grab and pull. There was hardly any time for Oryen to check his balance as he raised his own hand—no time to practice riding one-handed either.

The wolves didn't slide past each other. They collided. Neev dove in at the last moment to check their opponent in the shoulder. Evrynne flailed. Oryen made a snatch for his waving arm and missed, fingers just grazing his wrist.

Neev stepped back to give Oryen time to regroup, then dove in again. Their opponent was ready. Instead of meeting Neev head on, he feinted left, then went right. Oryen saw the move, but not in time to react. Evrynne grabbed his arm in a bruising grip. Oryen held on as tight as he could and tried to pull free.

Evrynne, his hand a vice on Oryen's wrist, pulled with all his strength. Oryen felt the power behind it and steeled himself. A current of shock travelled through them both. Oryen was barely a werewolf, still weeks out from his first transformation. He should be chewing gravel. Evrynne tugged fiercely, but Oryen's seat remained iron-clad. He couldn't be prised off Neev. Determined, Evrynne held on.

Even as Neev broke into a run.

Oryen saw in his mind what would happen—Neev sprinting right out from under him as his arm wrenched backwards and dislocated at the shoulder. Instead, Oryen hung on, and so did Evrynne. He peeled off his wolf like skin from an orange. Oryen doubled over, holding onto Neev's neck. Evrynne hit the ground and dragged along for three paces before letting go, body rolling with the momentum, clothing shredded and skin peppered with scrapes.

I did it, Oryen thought with barely contained exaltation. He was panting, soaked through with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, but he was victorious. Victorious, and he didn't know how.

Reyz whooped, jogging over. "Some show of strength you got! You should have gone flying off Neev's ass there," he said after a cajoling punch to the shoulder. Oryen had slid off Neev's back as gracelessly as he'd climbed up. "Can't say you were very in sync, but maybe she's not the right partner for you. We'll work on it, yeah?"

"Yeah," Oryen said with a small laugh, moving past Reyz to check on Evrynne.

Evrynne's partner had loped over and frozen. Evrynne's blood-flecked figure stirred, pressing a hand to the ground and pushing himself up with visible strain. The relief at seeing he wasn't badly hurt snuffed out immediately. His shirt was shredded to pieces. A dawning horror rose in Oryen's throat at the dark spread of wings against the revealed slashes of skin.

Reyz had already gone silent behind him. They'd all seen. The arena full of players sensed the disturbance, and all faces turned to see the cause.

Evrynne's tattoo was a crow just like Oryen's.

He raised his head and looked over his shoulder, completely unaware of the state of himself. Not knowing yet. He looked to Reyz for confirmation of his failure—a disappointment, surely, but the look Reyz wore was not disappointment. It dawned in Evrynne's eyes. He looked down at himself. He patted at his back and felt the slivers of shirt held together by fibres and not much else.

"I can explain," he said.

The wolf beside him snarled, lips peeled back from monstrous fangs, and Oryen felt viscerally thrown back into the real world. You could ride around and play games all you wanted, but these were still monsters. The wolf's jaws opened wide and Evrynne recoiled—eyes wide and horrified at how quickly his partner had turned on him.

Oryen had time to shout, "NO," at the same time that Reyz did.

The wolf stopped, clearly answering Reyz's order and not Oryen's. Reyz may have echoed Oryen's word, but it was not for the same sentiment.

"We take him to Lazro for judgment. Those are the rules," Reyz said. "Tryouts are postponed."

The wolf, still incensed, gave an impotent roar of frustration and turned to streak out of the arena, apparently too disgusted with being talked down from murder to stay. Reyz didn't look back at Oryen as he pulled Evrynne up roughly by the arm. Evrynne whimpered and started to struggle, coarse hair sprouting along his arms and spine.

Oryen swallowed his protests and his cowardice in one bitter pill as Reyz twisted Evrynne's arm. The bone snapped with a sound like dried pasta crunching underfoot. Evrynne screamed harder, but he didn't struggle anymore.

Judgment at the hands of the Alpha evidently didn't preclude any bodily harm sustained on the way. Oryen's stomach churned, watching one of his kinsmen dragged away, knowing he could do little to stop it without revealing his own past allegiances. And were they in the past, after all? Shame curled in his gut like a putrefying bit of rotten fruit. He'd loved the Fens. Been loyal to them for years. He didn't know who Evrynne had been before he came here, but...

He couldn't just let this happen.

One of the other players came up beside him, staring after Evrynne with a faraway look. "Jeeze. Evrynne? I never thought—" she said.

"What will happen to him?" Oryen asked. What judgment did his brother see fit for a Fen?

She looked at him like it should be obvious. "He'll be executed, of course." Like it was that simple. "He deserves worse."