So you get the fur. We all share the meat. That's a dubious benefit." Saryn laughed, and Nylan joined her. Snow-cat meat was tough, gamy, and no pleasure for teeth or tongue, even in a well-cooked stew. Nylan adjusted the bow in its cover and checked the quiver. "What will you do with the fur?" Saryn asked. "That's yours, you know." "Mine?" "Meat you can split, but not the hide. We all agreed that the choice is up to the one who brings the animal down, especially if you get wounded." Nylan's eyes flicked to the slash in his jacket. "It's only a cut." Saryn laughed. "Your skis didn't move much." Her eyes looked to the depression beside the trail. "That would have been futile," Nylan admitted. "So you stood there and fired three arrows at a charging leopard?" "It does sound stupid, when you put it that way." "Necessary," Saryn said. "What would have happened if you'd tried to ski away?" "I'd be under ten cubits of snow or a midday meal for the leopard." "So the pelt is yours.
