Arno looked at Bror. Bror took Arno’s hand, guided it toward the shorter knives at one end of the roll. “This,” he said. “Or even this.”

Arno looked at him again, then reached for a blade with a slight curve.

“Good choice,” said Bror. “Very good.”

Arno smiled, briefly, and Bror returned the smile: an enveloping smile full of warmth and kindness. “Here’s how you hold it.” Guiding the boy’s movements, gently and with confidence. “And here’s how you make the first cut.”

He must have seen me turn away.

“Not a fan of blood, Cal?”

“In my world meat comes from the supermarket.”

He laughed. “You disapprove?”

“Not judging. Just not my thing.”

“I like your honesty,” he said. “Take a short walk.”

I glanced at Arno. He had made a neat cut on the abdomen of one of the rabbits.

Bror caught me looking. “Or stay.” He smiled. “It’s really not so bad.”

Arno nodded at me and smiled too. Unthinkable a year ago. Even a few months ago his eyes had been lifeless and empty. I smiled at the boy, and he nodded at me and picked up the next rabbit.

“I will go for a walk,” I said.

“Introduce yourself to my dogs.”

I began to walk toward the low black-painted farm building.

A dog gave voice. Then another.

“Hush!” said Bror from behind me. That same reassuring gentleness. The dogs fell silent. I saw a yellow eye in a gap between the black-painted slats. A second eye appeared. Watchful and poised behind thin wood. No sound now beyond a low, hoarse panting.

I crouched down, held out the back of my hand. A snout appeared, black and very close. I saw an open jaw lined with heavy teeth, felt the dog draw my scent in through its mouth. “Hey there,” I said. “Hello.” I pushed my hand closer to the slats, and a pink tongue appeared, lapping at my wrist.

“The door is around the side,” said Bror. “They really are very friendly.”

I opened the door to the barn, heard the rasping of breath and the clanking of chain on concrete, saw their dark lurking shapes in the gloom. Three dogs, all haunch and shoulder and pointed snout. Muscular, like sprung steel.

At this end of the barn light fell through the slats and from the open door. I could make out a wall at the far end, and in that wall a door. I hunkered down, held out a hand, but the dogs kept their distance, pacing just out of reach. I took a half step toward them, heard the smallest of them growl in warning.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m one of the good guys.” But none of them would greet me now that I was inside.

When I returned, the rabbits were laid out in a row, their entrails stacked in a neat pile by the fence. Arno was gone.