She looked at me, startled. “Burn my grubs?”

Which startled me, too. “Your grubs?”

“Them!” she said, pointing at her leg.

I made a face. “I know what grubs are. But yours? You put them there?”

She closed her eyes. “They eat only what’s dead.”

“But there’s pus, too. Can they stop the festering?”

She shook her head. “A fisher cat will eat something dead and get its mouth full of germ and then spread the germ into something else. Like it did to me. I tried burdock root. Pepper. I need honey. To kill the germ.”

I thought of the hive I’d meant to raid.

“And witch hazel?” I said.

She looked at me sharply. “And witch hazel, I suppose. Though that alone won’t make much difference. It’s honey and grubs that will save my leg. Maybe save me. If I’m to be saved.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

I rubbed the spot on my face where the bee had stung. “How much honey?”

“As much as you can get.”

There. She expected me to get it. But I expected that, too. It was something I could do, so I would do it.

“I shouldn’t burn it? Your leg?” And I confess that I was relieved about that.

She shook her head. “We open up the wound and pack it with honey.”

I did not see any we about it. She could barely lift her head.

Her face suddenly changed. “Something’s hot,” she said. “What are you heating?”

“The chisel,” I said. “For burning you.”

She struggled up onto her elbows. “What chisel?”

“From over there,” I said, pointing at the workbench.

“You put it in the fire?” She pushed herself up farther. “Get it out!”

Which I did, quick as I could, my hand wrapped in a hearth rag.

The blade was black with smoke and heat.

“Hang it so it doesn’t warp,” she said quickly. “Don’t lay it down. Hang it.” She sounded like she might cry.

I did as she said, careful not to burn myself.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was trying to help you.”

“I know,” she said, dragging one thin hand over her face. “I know. It’s all right.”

I watched her settle, settle, sigh herself calm.

“What do you make?” I said. “With all those tools?”

“They aren’t mine,” she said. “I don’t make anything with them.”

I wanted to ask something else, but before I could she craned her neck and said, “I would be obliged if you would bring me some water.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” And I was. It must have been some time since she’d had anything to eat or drink.

“There’s a spring just past the biggest spruce at the far edge of the clearing. Coming out under the rock there. Not much to it, so high up, but enough.”