Nathaniel took off the gold rings he wore on each of his middle fingers.

'I would have thought you'd need those,' Gerald muttered. 'You're going to need all the health you can get.'

'I saw a man tackle a berserker on the Cape,' Nate replied. 'His ring caught on its carapace; it pulled his finger off.'

'Ah, right. Well, give them here, so.'

Nate handed over his rings and dragged a large coil of rope from Gerald's bag, pulling one end free. It had a loop tied into it, not unlike a hangman's noose.

'You're going to hang it now?' Gerald shook his head in puzzlement. 'Or is that for you, in case you should fail? You can take this whole "honour" thing a bit far, you know-'

'It's a lasso,' Nate told him. 'The ranchers use it to catch cattle and horses in America. Herne taught me how to use it.'

'Nate' – Gerald frowned, looking serious now – 'you can't catch this thing with a bloody rope. I don't know what you thought you'd-'

'Quiet!' Nate was peering into the fog. There was the sound of movement nearby. 'It's closer than I thought. Stay put. Don't make a sound… And don't bloody shoot anything.'

Gerald swore under his breath, fervently wishing he'd never proposed this stupid idea. Shifting the coiled rope onto his shoulder, Nate picked up the box and crept out into the open. He carefully placed the box down in the damp grass and then pulled out the handle. Instead of music, a metallic chugging sound erupted from the horn, the sudden noise harsh in the muffled silence of the fog. Nate sprinted to a nearby Scots pine, dropping the rope onto the ground, making sure that the looped end was free. Wrapping the other end several times around the stout trunk of the tree, he tied it off and sank down into the heather to wait.

He had hoped for more time to prepare, but the beast had obviously heard them. Damn Gerald and his prattle. The box's noise made it hard to hear the sounds of the creature's approach, but Nate knew it was coming. It would not come stealthily, not with such a blatant challenge to its territory.