‘No trinket, Mam.’ Sweat prickles my skin. I don’t know why. This is proof I was right and she wrong. Her eyes take in my face like birds scratching for scraps.

‘Are you telling me there’s been a wedding?’

‘Not yet,’ I say.

She drops my hand. ‘’Tis just a trinket, then.’

‘We will be married,’ I say. The truth of it chimes through my voice.

She looks at me, eyes narrowed. ‘Got yourself in trouble, haven’t you, lassie?’

I ignore the heat creeping over my cheeks. ‘No trouble.’

She watches me. I wait, fiddle with the cloth of my petticoat, stones at my wrist, ring on my finger.

‘At least, I don’t think there’ll be trouble,’ I say. ‘We’ve only just—’

She steps forward, jerks her arms out, so suddenly and with such force that I flinch.

‘Well, don’t stand there gormless, lass,’ she says. ‘You know where the parsley and tearthumb are kept. I’ll set the water on.’

The brew is one I’ve not tasted before. An underlying bitterness, tongue scorched as I swallow. We sit at the table, and were it another drink we could be just mother and daughter, sharing stories of nothing.

‘When will you know?’ she asks.

I think. ‘While the next full moon.’

‘You’d best take some with you. But just know, it will fail, in the end. This won’t always keep you safe.’ She clasps the hare pendant in her hand, rubs her thumb over the smooth wood.

I swallow the last mouthful, grimacing at the grainy sourness. Nod. But I can only hope it keeps me safe long enough. We’ve discovered a new way of living and there’s no undoing it now.

She reaches across the table, places her hand on my arm. ‘Whatever happens, this is where you dwell. Always. You know that, don’t you?’

I put the cup down, glad now I’ve drunk its contents for I could not swallow another thing, my throat is full. Grasp her hands. ‘I know, Mam.’

She squeezes my fingers, gives her head a little shake. ‘Well, now. Tell me of the fine life you have there, eh? I want to hear all—’

The door opens and Annie tears in, launching herself on to Mam’s lap, sobbing. We glance at each other over her head. An orphaned fox cub or some suchlike, I expect. I hope.

Eventually, her words become clear, though sodden with grief.

‘The lassie,’ she says. ‘The lassie’s dangling in the woods.’

We run silently, the three of us. Annie leading the way, faster than I’ve ever seen her, pulling Mam by the hand.

The feet are level with my knees. Not so far from the ground that kept her safe.