It was strange to think that Tristam had a family. Obviously, he hadn’t sprung up fully grown just to capture and interrogate her, but still, the idea of him belonging somewhere, of having people he cared about and who cared about him, was intriguing.

“Why are you not there with your family?”

“I thought I would join them. But everything changed when Jack—” He stopped. “There’s still some time before sundown. We should get some rest so we can both stay up the night. Why don’t I take first watch? It’s been a long day, and you’re still healing.”

Kyra pretended not to notice the abrupt change in topic. “Aren’t you worried I’ll murder you in your sleep?”

It was just an offhand comment, but he looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ve seen your reaction to death,” he said. “You won’t kill me.”

“I’m touched.” But as Kyra looked for a place to lay her blanket, she couldn’t deny her relief at his vote of confidence, however backhanded it was.

They were running. Or rather, the man carrying her was running and she was looking over his shoulder as leaves and branches flew by. There was growling and snapping of teeth in every direction. The man stumbled. Kyra screamed, but he caught himself—and her—before they tumbled to the ground. He set her down and bent over double, head down, his weatherworn face creased even further with exhaustion. Around them, the growls grew louder, frightening and familiar at the same time.

A crash of branches close by, and the man picked her up again. Sharp twigs scratched her face and hands. He set her down and took out a jar filled with something black and foul-smelling. She cried when he smeared it on her face and hands, then on her arms and the rest of her body.

“Stay still. Don’t make any noise.”

She choked down her sobs. The man took one last look at her. “Be brave,” he said, and left. She was alone, and the growls were coming closer.

Kyra woke up screaming. Branches swayed above her, mixing with the stuff of her dreams and sending her into a greater panic. She was on her feet shaking off her blanket, when she glimpsed Tristam staring at her a few paces away. Slowly, her wits returned and she stood like a cornered deer until her breathing slowed.

“Nightmare?” he asked.

She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak.

“Sit down. You’re shaking.” Tristam came toward her slowly, as if afraid she would bolt. He took her blanket and wrapped it around her like a cloak. The weight of his hands on her shoulders was comforting, and she was almost reluctant to pull away, but she grasped the blanket and settled back down.

She’d had the dream before, but never so clearly. “I think I’ve been in a forest before.”

“You dreamed about it?”