“You wouldn’t want her to handle you,” said the first one. “Seen the paws on her?”

“She’s a faery girl, ain’t she?” said the other. “Maybe her mother was a toad.” Gales of coarse laughter.

At last it was over. He groaned and relaxed and pulled out of me, and the other let go, and I collapsed in a heap on the ground, arms wrapped around my head.

“Come on, half-wit,” said one. “This is your big chance! Come on then! Bet you’ve never done it before, eh farm boy?” He gave me a kick in the ribs. “She’s ripe for it, aren’t you, toad girl? Never said a word. Just what you wanted, wasn’t it? Well, there’s plenty more where that came from, don’t you worry.”

“Hurry up,” said the other one. “She’s going to pass out. Not much fun then.”

But the simpleton was weeping, and I heard him turn and crash away through the forest in the general direction of home.

“Curse him,” said one. “He’ll blab the whole thing out if he gets back first. Come on, no point in hanging around here. We’d better catch him. She’ll keep for another time.”

“Bye, sweetie,” said the other one, disgustingly. He gripped my hair, pulling my head up and leering in my face as he bent over me. “Sorry to desert you so soon. We’ll be back for more, sugarplum. Feel this.” He forced my head between his legs, rubbing himself into my face, and I gagged and choked and struggled to keep silent.

“Oh, by the way, your dog’s up the hill there,” said the other one, sniggering. “Bit the worse for wear.”

“Gave me a nasty bite, he did,” observed the first one, dropping me to the ground again. “Vicious brute.”

Their voices faded away under the trees, and I lay there, unable now even to weep. Then a strange wind came up, and all the trees began to rustle and thrash about, though on the ground all was still. It was as if a darkness had fallen over the forest.

I don’t know how long I lay there. It grew steadily darker, but whether it was the day drawing onto dusk, or part of the strange, foreboding silence that overtook my home that afternoon, I could not say. I was lost in my misery. Above me the trees moved and sighed in the wind, and there were voices in it. Sorcha, Sorcha, they whispered. Oh, little sister. On the ground, nothing stirred. The birds were silent.

After a while, there was no choice but to move. I was bleeding; and there was Linn. I could not hope that she would return to me, running down between the trees with her joyful tail held like a banner in the breeze; but I must at least find her before nightfall. And I needed water.

Everything was an enemy. Everything was too hard. I did it very slowly. My clothes, torn and filthy. I never wanted to touch them again. I dropped them next to the fire. I was desperate to get clean again, but I was afraid to go down to the lake. There was a bucket of water and a harsh cloth, and I washed their filth from my body, shaking and shaking, though the day was still warm. I washed and washed, and when the water was all gone, I went on rubbing my body with the cloth until the skin was red and sore. There was quite a lot of blood; I felt detached from this, dealt with it as well as I could, then wrapped one of the old cloaks around myself and went on up the hill, my legs unsteady, the trees blurring and dancing before my eyes. She’s going to pass out. Not much fun then.