She had taken a camera from a tripod outside. It was small, and surely expensive—waterproof, drop-proof, practically unbreakable. She flipped the screen open and her own green face stared back, chin doubled from the angle. She snapped the screen shut again. Better to watch Ashley twitch in the firelight. Better to do literally anything. She pinched a fat tick from her neck and tossed it into the fire, where it popped.

Eventually the sky became less black. Mara had made it. But she couldn’t find the knife.

Normally the blade lived on Bullfrog’s shelf, next to some cups he’d carved from burls, so anyone could find it in the darkness. They had decided early on to give the knife a resting place at night. It was their best weapon. If they woke to a curious animal, or something worse, it might be their only shot at defense. Bullfrog and Mara slept nearest the doorway, which was why they chose his shelf. Easy to reach. But now the knife wasn’t there.

It wasn’t by the fire, either, at least not in the glow that Mara could see. She couldn’t make out the shadows. She lifted a burning log by the cool end, carefully, hoping to cast a wider glow, but a spark fell and landed on Kyle’s leg. He sat up, gasping.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

Mara pressed a finger to her lips. Bullfrog snorted, a thick honk that caught in his nose, and Ashley stirred. She was curled tightly with her back to the fire, and she scratched at a cluster of mosquito bites on her thigh. Eventually she fell still. Kyle sat, eyes flicking around the shelter and back to Mara. He was growing wisps of a beard.

“Don’t wake them,” Mara whispered. “Please.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for the knife.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I just need it.”

“For what?”

“I just need it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a secret.”

“You can tell me.”

She couldn’t, because dawn was coming and she would run out of time. “Kyle. Please. Do you know where it is?”

“I wish you would tell me what you’re doing,” he said.

“It’s a surprise, okay? It’s a surprise for Ashley.”

Kyle blinked. Then he reached into the darkness behind him, under the shelter eave, and pulled out the knife. He handed it across the fire.

“You hid it?”

“No,” he said. “I always put it back before morning.”

“It’s supposed to be on the shelf.”

“I know.”

“But it’s with you instead.”

“I get scared,” he said, and the admission was so startling, so uncharacteristically vulnerable, that Mara lost her words. She could not think about it; she took the knife and turned to go.

“Mara.”

“Shh. What.”

“Don’t tell about the knife.”

“Fine,” she said. “I won’t.” When she stepped through the doorway, she felt him watch her leave.

Already yellow light pierced the branches, and the rising sun cast stripes through the trees. She made her way on tiptoes to the creek. Somewhere a bird sang, and soon others. The chirp of a sparrow; the trill of a wren. The air was damp. Silver dew covered the ground and the leaves, a crystal shell on each pine needle. A few paths brushed clean of dew, where animals had recently passed.