“And we’re not tired anyway,” Twelve lied quickly.

“Speak for yourself,” Five muttered, shooting her a dark look.

Dog shook his head. “They are half a day ahead of us. Even if we caught them, we would be exhausted. They would not.”

Twelve frowned, trying not to admit he was right.

Six’s face looked haggard as he gazed along the trail, then up at the sky. He sniffed the air. “The sky’s clear, I suppose,” he said finally. “The tracks will still be there in a few hours. I just hope . . .” He shook his head and the group stood in silence, each desperately hoping Seven was all right. Admitting she would have to spend the rest of the night as a prisoner made her plight more terrifyingly real.

“Come,” Dog said, his tone gentler than Twelve had expected. He led them away from the trail and into the trees, the scent of pine sharp despite the cold.

Half dazed with exhaustion, Twelve and Six each used an axe to cut wood for a fire. Twelve examined Six from the corner of her eye as they worked. Her dislike of Five was so all-consuming she’d never paid any attention to the boy constantly beside him before. She decided Six wasn’t what she’d expected. Unlike Five, he was quiet, but anything he did say appeared thoughtful and deliberate. It made him almost the opposite of Five, and Twelve couldn’t help but wonder what he saw to like in the other boy.

When the logs were crackling merrily, the three huntlings settled onto their oilskins and furs, nibbling their rations appreciatively. Widge perked up at the promise of food, then scampered off to explore. Twelve lay back against her canvas bag with a sigh, stretching her aching limbs. Dog sat sphinxlike by the flames, watching everything at once.

“Want some?” Twelve asked, holding out a slice of her dried meat to Dog. Everyone was eating except him.

The look he gave her was amused. “I am made of stone. I have no need to eat.”

“Oh.” Twelve put the meat back in her bag, feeling stupid as Five smothered a grin.

“It is kind of you to ask,” Dog added, catching Five’s expression. “My sense of smell is very sharp, but I have no sense of taste. I would love to be able to eat though. Chicken pies smell delicious.” The sigh he gave was full of longing.

Twelve stayed silent, not sure what to say.

“Do you sleep?” Six asked, intrigued.

“No. But I have spent hundreds of years inside a wall,” Dog said dryly. “Does that count?”

“What about pain?” Five piped up. His eyes flicked to Dog’s maimed ear. “You must have felt that.”

Dog stared into the fire. “Not as you would,” he said finally. His tone made it clear the conversation was over.