The sphere at his feet vibrated eagerly. He bent down, his wounded leg protesting, and scooped it up. The weight was wrong in his hand, a dense heft, surprisingly light for its mass. Its seamless surface radiated a steady warmth.

  "Alright," Trenn said, weighing the sphere. "Let's see what you can do."

  He started with a clumsy dribble between hands and feet. Each bounce sent a delighted thrum through the packed sand.

  A scrape jerked his head toward the trees. Trenn scooped up the sphere. It froze, its thrum snuffed out instantly.

  Two figures peeled away from the shadows of the gnarled trees. Alien moonlight glinted on caiman-like snouts. Three-fingered, claw-tipped hands gripped spears of flaked obsidian. Lidless eyes fixed on him with a stillness that raised the hairs on his arms.

  They blocked his path to the woods. The open beach, leading down to the churning black water, was his only escape.

  Clutching the living rock like a shield, Trenn stumbled backward, his wounded leg flaring in protest. The soft sand dragged at his boots, each step a desperate, sinking effort. The two reptiles matched his pace, their dark, unblinking eyes tracking his every move.

  He risked a glance over his shoulder at the ocean. He could make it to the water, maybe swim out past them. No, not with a leg wound.

  Two dark shapes bobbed in the churning surf. Not driftwood. Heads.

  The same elongated snouts, the same wide, lidless eyes. They were still, patiently waiting for him to run into their domain.

  His gaze darted between the hunters on the sand and the bobbing heads in the surf. His stomach lurched. Two on the beach, two in the water. A pincer. They weren't just hunting him; they were herding him. The air left his lungs as his knees threatened to buckle.

  The sphere’s pliable mass seized, condensing with impossible force. The living warmth in his hands vanished, replaced by the unyielding heft of solid stone. A weapon. He heaved the sphere in a violent basketball pass aimed at the closest hunter’s snout.

  It struck the elongated snout with a CRACK that snapped the caiman's head back. The sphere’s surface visibly warped against the reptile-man's snout before rebounding back towards Trenn's waiting hands.

  The sphere slapped back into his palms, solid and heavy. It had bent its trajectory mid-air to return to him.

  The standoff stretched for a heartbeat before the uninjured reptile from the beach shattered the stillness with a guttural hiss. The two in the water erupted from the surf. Water sprayed from their shoulders as they charged, churning the black ocean into a frenzy.

  Let’s see how hard I can chuck this thing. A raw cry ripped from his throat as he pivoted, putting his entire body into a sidearm pitch. The living rock streaked across the dark water. The lizardman tried to twist away, but the throw was too fast.

  THWACK.

  The sphere connected. There was a loud crack of cartilage, and the creature’s snout collapsed inward. The sphere ricocheted, momentum undiminished, and smashed into the second hunter's skull.

  Both crumpled into the surf and vanished beneath a receding wave. The rebounding stone was looping high into the air, curving gracefully back towards Trenn.

  Trenn’s lungs burned as he sucked in ragged gasps. Did that happen? He held up his hands almost on instinct. It landed in his palms with a familiar, solid weight, its surface already radiating a reassuring warmth. His eyes snapped back to the creature on the sand, who had frozen mid-stride.

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  The obsidian-tipped spear was held low, a two-handed thrust aimed to core him like an apple. Trenn twisted, gritting his teeth against the pain, and shoved the rock ball forward defensively.

  The obsidian spearhead met the sphere and sank into its mass with a muffled thud. Not a second later, the strange, now pliable rock pulsed, ejecting the spearhead with a violent shove.

  The unexpected force shattered the hunter's stance, throwing it off balance. Trenn heaved the sphere and smashed it onto the caiman's head. The stone ball cracked its skull, and the monster crumbled to the ground.

  The two hunters from the water staggered to their feet. A coordinated, guttural hiss ripped from their throats. In unison, they reared back and threw their spears. Two deadly streaks whistled through the night air.

  Trenn tried to throw himself sideways, but his wounded leg collapsed under him as he half-dodged, half-fell. The first spear whipped past his head and buried itself deep in the sand.

  The second spear’s obsidian tip tore through his clothes and the flesh along the side of his ribs. A scream ripped from his lungs as he collapsed, the world tunneling to a grey point.

  The scaled forms of the hunters wavered, their edges blurring in the greying world as his own hot blood pulsed between his fingers.

  He tried to dropkick the sphere, but his vision swam. His depth perception failed. His boot missed the center of mass and threw him off-balance.

  His boot came down squarely on the sphere, which instantly became pliable; it molded around the sole of his boot and gripped his foot.

  The gritty drag of sand beneath his trapped boot vanished, replaced by a frictionless glide. He instinctively kicked off the ground with his injured foot. An awkward, weak push that carried him out of reach of his now spearless enemies.

  Behind him, the hissing cries sounded less like threats and more like confusion. He kicked off the ground again, gaining speed as pain flared through his leg and side. He aimed for the cover he could see: the dark pine grove.

  He slid from the sand onto a bed of pine needles, the enraged hisses fading behind him. Clutching his bleeding side, he kicked weakly with his injured leg, each push sending a fresh wave of agony through him. The world became a frantic, jarring blur of alien pines rushing past, his living skate gliding over a carpet of dead needles and damp earth.

  Low-hanging branches whipped at his face and arms. The dual-moonlight pierced the canopy, casting a confusing lattice of double shadows.

  The spear wound seared from ribs to hip with every jostle. His peripheral vision dissolved into a grey, swimming tunnel. He tried for one more push, a last, spastic kick to propel him deeper into the saving darkness.

  His wounded leg refused. It buckled without warning, muscles seizing in agony. He was thrown from his spherical skate and landed hard in a tangle of thorny undergrowth and decaying logs. A branch snagged his hoodie, twisting his body as he fell.

  He lay sprawled, the smell of soil filling his nostrils. The dampness of the forest floor seeped through his clothes, leaching the warmth from his body. A profound, shaking chill wracked his body, making his teeth chatter.

  Every muscle screamed as he fought the leaden weight of his own limbs. Nausea churned in his gut with each agonizing inch, but he finally flopped onto his back, the movement sending a fresh jolt through his side.

  His clumsy, trembling fingers found the ragged tear in his hoodie. The fabric was stiff with dried blood. He hooked a thumb into the hole and pulled, ignoring the pain as the material ripped, exposing the injury.

  A gaping furrow was carved from his upper chest down his side. The edges swelled, a bruised purple against his pale skin. The gash was clogged with a dark paste of leaf mould, soil, and his own coagulating blood. A coppery tang soured the air he breathed.

  The ground was swallowing him, pulling him down. His limbs were leaden weights he could no longer command. His head thudded back against the damp earth. He closed his eyes, his breathing shallow, and waited. A gentle pressure settled on his sternum—the dense, solid weight of the living rock.

  He forced his heavy eyelids open. It was there, resting on his chest, humming with a calm vibration. It was a deep, resonant purr.

  Slowly, it rolled from his chest, its weight shifting until it rested directly on the exposed wound. Trenn sucked in a sharp breath and tensed, every muscle locking in a desperate brace against the expected pain.

  But it never came. Instead of pressure and pain, there was a gentle pulsing, like a deep suction from the point of contact. It didn't hurt. In fact, the searing heat of the wound began to cool, replaced by the creature's steady warmth.

  Under the dual moons, the sphere’s surface grew translucent and pliable. Tiny dark specks of grit and soil lifted from his torn tissue, drawn painlessly into its mass. The debris swirled inside the sphere like dark sediment suspended in gel.

  "You skate..." he mumbled, his mind drifting. "You skate... on everything." The purr against his ribs deepened, the vibration resonating through his bones.

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