“You’re leaving because of her,” Kestrel said, her voice icy so he wouldn’t know that her heart was cracking in two. She wanted to say more, but she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. That if he loved her, he’d stay.
“I’m leaving because she’ll put that dog on me,” he said.
“You used to be brave,” Kestrel said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “You could squash that dog under your little finger if you wanted to, but you’re too afraid.”
Her dad looked like he’d been hit. Kestrel immediately felt wretched, but she couldn’t take it back.
The black dog padded into sight. It paused a few yards away, baring its teeth.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” her dad said quietly. He looked sidelong at the dog and pulled Kestrel away. His face had smoothed over again, but she could see that he was reeling from her blow. “I’m trying to find a way to get rid of that blasted animal. If your mother won’t call it off, we’ll get rid of it ourselves. I have an idea, but I need to find out more, okay?”
“Okay,” Kestrel whispered, her mouth dry.
“In the meantime,” he said, “promise that you won’t come after me. I know what you’re like. Remember when you hid in my bag when you were only tiny?”
“I started laughing,” said Kestrel. “You had to take me back.”
“None of that now,” he said. “Promise you won’t come after me.”
“Why do I have to promise?”
“Just making sure,” he said, and hugged her tight. “Off with you now.”
“Dad—”
He gave her a small shove, but his size meant that it was like being pushed by a bear. She stumbled toward the dog, which jumped up and ran a ring around her, tripping her. Kestrel jumped to her feet.
“Wait!” she yelled, but her dad was already striding into the trees, his traps clanking.
She heard a sneeze behind her and turned quickly. The villagers were everywhere, half hidden, staring through the cracks in their doors or paused in the gaps between houses. They’d all come out to listen to the argument.
Her mother was there, too, watching Kestrel from her doorway with a contemptuous look on her face.
Anger bubbled up in her, an unstoppable force that made her head hot and her hands cold.
“What did you say to him?” Kestrel growled.
She marched toward her mother with no idea of what she was going to do, but the black dog ran in front of her, blocking her path. Kestrel tried to dodge it but it was too fast, and a single nip sent her sprawling on the ground.
The dog turned to Kestrel’s mother, looking for approval. Without thinking, rage still coursing through her bones, Kestrel launched herself at it with a snarl.
She landed on its back. The dog yelped, and Kestrel managed to twist one of its ears when her mother issued a short, sharp scream. The dog threw Kestrel off, running into the house, past her mother, who was holding the side of her face. Her skin was red and blotchy.
“Oh,” Kestrel breathed, regret coursing through her instantly.
The villagers had come to the same conclusion as Kestrel and stared at the black dog with a newfound curiosity. They leaned out to gape openly. Even Mardy stepped outside.
Her mother blinked in shock. Kestrel’s heart began to beat wildly, but she didn’t move. Instead she held her breath and waited. She waited for her bones to crack, for her blood to turn into acid.
Runo and Briar clutched each other gleefully. Briar whispered something in her brother’s ear, and he snorted with laughter.
Her mother twitched. Then, quick as a flash, she reached into the house and grabbed a handful of wool. A small white baby tooth was knotted into it.
Something terrible was going to happen. Kestrel bit down a cry and braced herself, waiting for the pain to begin.
Her mother knotted the wool between her fingers, trapping the baby tooth inside. Then she clenched her fist.
There was a scream from the well. Kestrel turned so fast her hair flew in front of her face. Runo was on the floor, screeching, his right leg bent at a funny angle. Briar wailed and bent down toward him, but then Kestrel’s mother dropped the tangle of wool with the tooth inside, and stamped on it.
Runo shuddered, as though he’d been stamped on himself, and screamed again. It was so long and loud it made Kestrel’s teeth ache. Briar leaped back, horrified.
“Don’t forget what I can do!” her mother screamed at the village. None of them dared look at her. Her voice was high and cut through the echo of Runo’s sobs. She licked her lips, then stared at Kestrel.
“Mushrooms,” she said. “I want food. Now.”
Kestrel’s mother picked up the wool and stepped inside, slamming the door shut. Kestrel’s legs gave way. She sat down, shaking with a horrible, curdled combination of fear and relief. The villagers disappeared into the depths of their houses. Everyone left except Runo and Briar. Briar was trying to pick him up, desperately hissing at him to move.
It took a moment for Kestrel to understand that she wasn’t going to get hurt. She ran over to the well.
“Is Runo all right?” Kestrel asked breathlessly. He was clutching his leg and making terrible sniveling noises.
“Don’t you dare,” Briar said coldly. Her usual sneer was gone.
“I thought she’d hurt me,” Kestrel said weakly. “I wouldn’t have attacked the dog, otherwise.”
“You’re her daughter,” Briar snorted. “You can do what you want. You’ll always be safe from her.” She finally dragged Runo to his feet. “But you won’t be safe from us,” she added coldly, turning away.
Kestrel wanted to tell Briar that it wasn’t true, that her own punishment was coming later, but Briar was already leading Runo away, limping.
Kestrel stared at them as they retreated, her eyes prickling.
Stupid tears.
She felt something scratch her leg. She bent down and picked Pippit up, trying very hard not to sniff.
“Mushrooms,” Pippit reminded her. “Get mushrooms or Nasty does a bad.”
Pippit was right. If her mother didn’t have mushrooms in the next twenty minutes, she’d go crazy. Maybe she’d hurt someone else.
Kestrel moved quietly through the trees with Pippit clinging to her head, while he quietly muttered about mushrooms and snacks. She found a tree stump covered in quietly squirming fungi and dug around for a stick she could use to knock them off. The last time she touched them, they tried to eat her fingers.
A branch snapped. Kestrel looked up, her fingers tightening around her spoon.
“Finn?” she said doubtfully. Deep down, she knew Finn wouldn’t come this far into the forest alone—at least not on the ground.
She saw something move in the trees to her right. She quickly turned to face it, taking care not to make any sound. Fifty paces away, two bright yellow eyes hovered in the air.
They blinked out immediately, as though the creature hadn’t meant to be seen. Kestrel stared at the space where they had been, dread oozing through her body. She had a terrible feeling about the eyes. Were they following her? She reached for her slingshot, but her hand closed on her notebook instead, and she cursed inwardly. She kept forgetting that she’d lost it.
Kestrel fumbled for her spoon instead. She crept toward the space where the eyes had been. She could see a dark outline standing in the trees, as though the creature had turned its back. Kestrel’s blood raced as she approached. Then, when she was only a few paces away, it fled, and before she knew what was happening, it was in the trees behind her instead. It was so fast. She whirled around to face it, but it moved again, so she could only catch a glimpse of its shadowy outline.