Gefnen – troll-herald and hound for Koschey the Deathless – hunts life across the moors of the far north. Not deer, not pheasant, not meat for the table. His master eats choicer fruits. When the piercing scent of youth tingles his senses, Gefnen focuses his chase. The prey – a boy – lacks guardians strong enough to best a troll. Swift triumph awaits. But other seekers tilt the chances of this game. Spirit of storm, poignant memories of a sea-prince, and something more ancient than memory or the wind shape the looming tumult. Gefnen hunts victory, but a darker victory hunts him. Excerpt from Star-drake On horseback, Gefnen inhaled, long and lingeringly. He could smell them - his prey - somewhere ahead, warm and live and vibrant. My lord Koschey will be pleased with this catch. Pure and piercing amongst the scents of the elders came the perfume of the young one. Gefnen would secure him first, then the others as chance permitted. But Koschey's deathless essence would expand threefold on the boy's vitality alone. Gefnen glanced at the star patterns in the black sky. Moonrise would come before he reached the travelers' camp, but no matter. His troll blood gave him an advantage in the dimness of starshine, mapping his surroundings by smell alone, while his human foes blundered in the dark. But they were little better under lunar light. And they would not be expecting him. He felt his lips stretch in a not-smile, their dry surfaces cracking at the center points, oozing fluid. His sweeping tongue caught the droplets before they stained his chin. Slightly salt, strongly metallic. He frowned.