“Don’t be sad,” Finn said.
“Okay,” Kestrel said, surprised by his grown-up tone.
A wolf’s howl cut through the night. Finn jumped, knocking the lantern out of the tree so they were plunged into darkness. Pippit was on Kestrel’s shoulder in an instant, his warm breath tickling her ear.
They were all frozen in silence, and Kestrel was just starting to breathe again when they heard a second howl, then a third, then countless more all merging into a violent cacophony of noise.
“They’re talking to one another,” Kestrel said, her blood turning cold. “They’re hunting something big.”
They all knew what it was even before Pippit spoke.
“Trapper!” he cried.
For a second Kestrel was frozen, her thoughts grinding to a sudden, panicked halt. Then she hurled herself from the tree, crashing through the branches until she hit the ground. She scrambled up and pounded toward the noise. She couldn’t see a thing, but instinct drove her through the trees in seconds. She didn’t care how many wolves there were. Her dad was in trouble.
Kestrel was just about to plunge into the thick, thorny undergrowth when the black dog ran from the shadows and launched itself at her. A huge tangle of teeth and claws and fur hit her from the side.
She landed with her left arm twisted painfully beneath her. She felt a huge, crushing weight on her chest. She screamed with rage and tried to throw the black dog off, but it dug its teeth into her elbow, right into the joint. Pippit cried out and tried to bite the dog, but it knocked him away with a single swipe.
Something crashed through the trees above them, and Kestrel saw Finn scrambling through the leaves, the blanket still caught around his ankle.
“Kes!” he called.
“Hide!” she shouted. But it was too late. The dog had already seen him.
Kestrel wriggled out from underneath the dog, but it didn’t attack her again. Instead, it took another long, hard look at Finn, as though making a decision. Then it rolled its tongue around its mouth and dropped something on the ground. Kestrel held her breath. It was dark, but she could just make it out: a piece of brown cloth.
“Is that from my dad’s coat?” she breathed. “Have you seen him?”
The dog picked it up again and jerked its head, as though it wanted her to follow.
“Do you know where he is?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Show me!”
The dog started to run. Kestrel had no idea why it was helping her, but she didn’t have time to worry about that now. She took off after it, Finn’s and Pippit’s shouts fading behind them.
She followed the dog through the trees, crashing back through the stream, plowing through the deepening snow. It took her a few minutes to realize they were going back toward the village.
“Wait!” she yelled. “Hang on!”
But the dog didn’t slow down, and she was afraid to lose him. She bolted straight into the village, following it all the way to her mother’s door. For a moment she wondered if he was inside, if he’d fled back to the village to hide from a pack of ravenous wolves.
The door to her mother’s house was already open. Her mother was sitting in the middle of the room, cross-legged, wool twined between her outstretched fingers.
Kestrel followed the dog inside, gasping for breath. The dog trotted up to her mother and dropped the piece of cloth in front of her. She inspected it, then gave a sudden, strangled cackle.
She was laughing.
The door slammed behind them. The dog lay down beside her mother, grinning. Only then did Kestrel realize she’d been tricked.
“Clever boy,” her mother crooned, scratching the dog between the ears. The piece of cloth dissolved into the floor. Kestrel tried to grab it, but her fingers met bare wood. “What a good idea. You’ve got brains, haven’t you?”
The dog growled, and her mother’s fingers paused between its ears. She was listening to what it was saying.
Kestrel tried to back toward the door, but the dog stood up, ready to pounce. One bite and all the blood would drain from her body.
Her mother’s stare crawled all over her like a nest of ants.
“Where were you sprinting off to in the dark, all alone?” her mother asked, although it was clear from her tone that she knew exactly what was happening. “You know you’re not allowed to do that. You were supposed to be getting me mushrooms, and you disappeared, you ungrateful wretch.” She scratched the dog again, and it gave a low, happy rumble. “It’s a good thing the dog keeps an eye on you. We can’t have you running after wolves every time they make a bit of noise.”
With every long second that oozed by, Kestrel knew the wolves’ teeth could be around her dad’s neck. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to concentrate on her mother.
“Dad’s being chased by them,” Kestrel said, ignoring the taste of blood in her mouth. “He needs help.”
“What makes you think it’s a wolf?” her mother asked softly, and the truth hit Kestrel like a sack of bricks.
The wolves weren’t howling because they had him by the throat.
They were celebrating because something else did.
Kestrel threw herself at her mother. The black dog barreled into her back, knocking her flat against the floor, but it didn’t stop her kicking and screaming. “You saw it in the weave! His grabber is after him. And you made him go back into the forest!”
“That was his choice,” her mother said dangerously. “He wouldn’t be any safer in the village.”
“That’s a lie!” she shouted. “If he stayed here, I could have helped!”
“Lower your voice,” her mother said, so calmly that Kestrel instantly went still.
“Down,” her mother said to the dog, but Kestrel stayed there, her cheek pressed against the cool of the floor, her face burning.
Kestrel waited for the dog to bite her, but to her surprise, it never did.
“I’ll let you go after your father, if that’s what you want,” her mother said. “But first you have to make me a promise.”
Kestrel raised herself to her knees, spitting splinters. “Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
Her mother twitched an eyebrow, looking just a tiny bit impressed.
“I asked you once if you were friends with that boy,” her mother said. “You lied to me.”
“So?” said Kestrel fiercely.
Her mother reached up and plucked something from the weave. She held a small incisor tooth between her thumb and forefinger, making sure Kestrel could see it properly. Scratched into the back in tiny, cramped letters was Finnigan.
Kestrel didn’t dare move. She felt like one small breath might shatter everything.
“It would take me three seconds to stop the poor boy’s heart,” she said matter-of-factly. “Imagine that—he’d be sitting in a tree, with all the joy of the world in him, and suddenly . . .”
She held the tooth delicately, almost lovingly. Finally, after a horribly long time, her mother closed her fist around it and slipped it into her pocket.
“We’ll make a real bargain, this time,” her mother said. “One with consequences. You will never, ever speak to that feral boy again. You’ll no longer have anything to do with him.”
Kestrel stared at her. She felt dizzy. She didn’t know what to say.
“I don’t know how to make it any clearer, Kestrel,” her mother snapped, grabbing her arm so hard Kestrel cried out. “I have his teeth, and I will not hesitate to remove him from this earth if you speak a single word to him!”
“Mum,” Kestrel begged, trying to twist her arm away.