Kestrel squinted at it blearily. Her grandma was right. The wood was old and full of knots, and if you concentrated, they looked a little like faces.
“So?” she asked.
“Sit up,” Granmos said, dragging her upright by her elbow.
Granmos used the thick smoke from her pipe and flickering candlelight to make terrible shadows dance across the walls. She hissed horrible stories in Kestrel’s ear, and embellished the imaginary creatures with bloodcurdling descriptions until Kestrel was convinced that she was going to die inside the house. It didn’t stop until Kestrel screamed and hid her head under the pillow.
But that wasn’t the end. Granmos put her through the whole nightmare again the next night, and the next, again and again until Kestrel hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Use your brain,” Granmos roared. “Work out how to stop being scared!”
Kestrel wanted to run away, but she knew her grandma would come after her. She tried closing her eyes and stuffing her fingers in her ears. She tried stabbing the door with her spoon, but the faces never stopped being terrifying, and she shivered with lack of sleep.
“Where’s the dog?” her dad said. Kestrel blinked and realized she’d missed half a conversation.
“Dunno,” she said. It had left her alone for a while now, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t for her good behavior.
They continued their circuit of the village until they came to her mother’s house. The windows were shuttered, and the door was tightly closed.
“Well,” he said, looking relieved, “I won’t disturb her. I’ve come a long way and I need to rest. I’ll sleep by the wolf fire.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Kestrel. “I’ll watch for wolves.”
“I don’t need looking after,” he said, laughing.
“Whatever,” Kestrel replied, turning her face away so he wouldn’t see her blush. She knew the wolves wouldn’t come for him here, but a tiny part of her was always waiting for him to run back into the forest when she was asleep. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, or that she thought he’d leave without saying good-bye, but—well . . .
They were almost out of sight of her mother’s house when Kestrel heard the door creak open. She froze at the same time as her dad, and shared dread sloshed between them.
Slowly, they turned around.
Her mother was leaning in the doorway, whole skeins of wool trailing from her clothing and into the back of the house like umbilical cords. Seeing her make it as far as the door was a shock. Although her mother’s face was unhealthily gray in the daylight, her eyes were still hard, and she looked no weaker for having left the warm belly of the house.
“Come and greet me, then,” she said, like she was issuing a challenge. Kestrel looked at her dad. His face was unreadable.
“Let’s go,” Kestrel said, and when she didn’t get a response she kicked his foot. It was like striking her toes against a rock. “Dad!”
“Trapper!” her mother called unexpectedly, her voice whipping across the ground like a snake. “Afraid of your own wife?”
Kestrel’s dad marched toward the house, and Kestrel’s mother laughed. Kestrel threw herself after him and grabbed the back of his coat, but he dragged her along like a ship breaking anchor.
They stopped at the doorstep. Kestrel hauled herself upright and stood beside her dad, furious and streaked with dirt. “Let’s go,” Kestrel said urgently, wishing her dad wasn’t so heavy.
He shook her off. “You know I have nothing to say to you,” her dad said to her mother, his voice different from its usual slow rumble. “Don’t come near me while I’m here.”
Kestrel had never heard anyone speak to her like that before, and it chilled her to the pit of her stomach. “I’m here to see Kestrel.”
“Are you?” her mother said, leaning in. Kestrel’s dad stepped back inadvertently. “Or are you here because you’re running away from something?”
“Dad?” said Kestrel, trying to pull him away.
“Whatever you think you know is wrong,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
“I know enough,” her mother said.
“Stop ignoring me,” Kestrel yelled, surprising them both. They looked at her for a second, the spell between them broken.
“Go and wait for me by the fire,” her dad said angrily. “Now!”
Kestrel flushed red. She wasn’t some little kid who could just be sent away. She opened her mouth to defy him, but he looked so thunderous that she shut it again right away.
She stomped away, giving them her best look of deep disgust. As soon as her back was turned they started again, and she ducked around the corner of another house to listen. They had lowered their voices, and she had to strain her ears to hear them.
“You’re not brave enough to go back into the forest,” her mother said, brushing Kestrel’s interruption off like a piece of lint.
“Says the woman who hasn’t left her house in five years,” her dad said.
“You’re so terrified you’d rather wriggle under my nose than face it,” her mother retorted. “You crept back to the village like the worm you are.”
Her dad leaned in and Kestrel lost sight of his face. She craned her head as far as she dared, but heard nothing but mumbles. Then her mother snapped, “Better for her that you don’t make it,” and slammed the door in his face.
Her dad shuddered like he’d been shot in the chest. Then he turned, and Kestrel knew that he’d lost the argument.
He strode toward the forest. Kestrel tumbled out of her hiding place. She knew instinctively what was happening.
“Wait,” she said to her dad, striding after him, not bothering to pretend that she hadn’t been eavesdropping. He picked up the pace, and she had to run to keep up. “Don’t go. Dad.”
He was moving toward the trees, his traps clanking as they swung around his legs. She had to duck out of the way to stop them from hitting her.
“Where are you going?” she asked. He didn’t slow down. “What did she mean about you running away from something? Dad?” A terrible thought occurred to her. “Is it your—” she hesitated, her voice was so full of dread it made him stop. She had to force the words past her teeth. “Is it your grabber?”
Kestrel’s dad caught his breath, as though the word was a physical blow. Then he burst into laughter, and Kestrel felt her horror deflate like a balloon.
“I promise there’s no grabber,” he said.
“Oh,” Kestrel said, going red. She felt stupid for being so dramatic. Nobody ever talked about their grabbers, but her dad wouldn’t keep any secrets from her. The rest of the villagers would rather cower in silence if they thought they were being stalked, but not him. He trusted her.
He lowered his voice, and Kestrel leaned in instinctively. “Truth be told, I’m tracking something,” he said. “I can’t let it get away from me.”
“A wolf?” she said, watching his face. Despite his laughter, he still wore a haunted look.
“A big one,” he said, running his fingers around his hat again. “It’s been baying for my blood for years, and it would love nothing more than to take a chunk out of me. But I’ll get it.”
Kestrel felt a pang of worry, but her dad only smiled again. He looked over his shoulder, the claws on his hat swinging past his eyes.
“It was silly to come back. I’ve got to pick up the trail again,” he said.
“What about the snow?” Kestrel asked, wishing it would pour from the sky.
“It won’t be much,” he said. “Only a scattering.”
Kestrel wanted to scream at him.