She’d meant to go straight there by the quickest route she could find. There was no using the main track. Even in this weather there might be folk coming out and in, farm hands or messengers. But she’d intended to find the most direct way for a person on foot, a person who was wood-wise and could make speed even where the trees grew close and the undergrowth was dense and the ground was full of sudden drops and difficult rises. Allowing for the need to cross streams swollen by the spring rain, she’d calculated that she would reach the house and barn at around midday.

What led her astray she did not know. The rain eased; the way should have become simpler, quicker. But after that still moment, the moment of magic, the forest seemed full of strange shadows. Cara knew the place was tricky; there were countless tales of folk being lost, of carts going off the track and getting stuck, of travellers hearing eldritch sounds or spotting things that could not possibly be there. Wolf Glen’s own workers came to and fro without difficulty, as if the place had accepted them. It was outsiders who had trouble. That was why people used the other way, to the west, through Longwater. Though folk didn’t like that path either. They only visited Wolf Glen if they really had to.

Cara found herself hesitating; needing to stop and check the terrain ahead; needing to fix markers such as a particular tree or stony outcrop to be sure she was on track. Something was wrong. She always knew the way; she knew it inside, deep down, without needing to think about it. Had she wandered into some fey place, some place of danger, without being aware of it? She knew the signs to watch for: mushroom circles, piled-up stones, woven grasses, odd things hanging from low branches. She had seen none of these. But here, in a clearing surrounded by graceful pale birches, she felt the pull of something perilous. ‘I’m heading home,’ Cara whispered to whatever might be there, invisible, watching and listening. ‘Home.’

The three birds rose up as one, flying off into the trees. A cry broke the quiet of the clearing, the voice of something small, lost, hurt. A wordless call for help.