As they walked, Ashyn squinted around for Beatrix. There were no cacti here, no piles of stones, so the old woman—standing or squatting—should be easy to spot. But Ashyn saw nothing. She tried calling to her. Her voice carried in the silence and no one replied.

How far did she go?

There was no need to go far. Since the scorpion episode, Ashyn had chosen camps carefully. Tonight, there’d been no obstacles to hide behind, so she’d told them to simply walk far enough that smells wouldn’t waft back to camp.

Ashyn sighed. Soon she wouldn’t be dreaming of dangerous boys, but of hairbrushes, and hot water, and toilets with doors that latched. And as long as she had none of those, she suspected there was little use in dreaming of the other either. She was rather grateful they hadn’t passed a still body of water in two days, so she’d been spared the horror of her own reflection.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that when Tova growled, she only reached out and absently patted his head. He grabbed her fingers in his teeth. She stopped abruptly to look around.

“Beatrix?”

No answer.

As Ashyn looked, she caught a rustle. No, not a rustle. This was just as quiet, but more of a rasping, sliding sound, like something moving across sand.

Tova’s growl drowned out the noise. She tried to shush him, but when he finally stopped with a snort of satisfaction, the sound was gone.

A snake. That’s what it had sounded like. They got them in the village sometimes, coming in from the edge of the forest. Little green ones, harmless, children scooping them up as pets. But the snakes of the Wastes could be dangerous. She’d seen men bitten by them, their fellow travelers rushing them to Edgewood for treatment. Some were merely ill, easily treated. Others . . . others were not.

“Beatrix,” she whispered. She reached for Tova. “Can you help me find her?”

He grunted, lifted his muzzle, and made a show of sniffing the air; then he shook his head and grunted again.

I’ve been trying all along, he seemed to be saying, but wherever she is, I can’t smell her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I know you’re already helping. I’m just . . .”

He walked behind her and butted her legs gently.

“And I won’t find her by standing here in the dark, worrying about not finding her.”

Tova took the lead again, steering her another way, sniffing the air more obviously now, as if to make sure she knew he was working on it.

Perhaps Beatrix was taken. That’s why we can’t find her. Bandits. Or something else.

What else? They’d seen no sign of shadow stalkers, bandits, or anything that moved on two legs.