She can smell smoke, the attempt of their fire, not for warmth but for cooking, the smell of something caught and skewered. She sees it through the thicket of their bodies, a hare or a small fox or a large squirrel, its insides by turns black and red and raw and burned. And then a new terror: Ulf, still standing his ground, placing his long, thin body between them and her, all the time growling.

They whisper, and one approaches, arm outstretched to the dog, as though to pet him. But from his belt he is pulling a rusty blade, blunted and stained. Ulf barks once, twice, and Lisbet cringes. The man is drawing closer and she must move, but her feet are sunk into the forest floor, into the dried and dead things laid out there like a carpet, and she will watch these men and women kill Ulf and she will do nothing, and she has a traitor’s heart in her chest and she must move, must scream, must fling herself yelling between the stupid, precious dog and these desperate, starving people—

‘Lisbet!’

How do they know her name? The terror of it looses her voice, and she gasps. The man lunges for Ulf but the dog is suddenly alert and quick, streaking past Lisbet, the growl still full in his throat.

‘Scheiße,’ exclaims the man, and his attention switches to Lisbet, shaken from her hiding place. ‘You there—’

He is gesturing with the knife, for her to come closer. The moment she hears footsteps behind her, she loses her mind entire. They have surrounded her, and it will be both her and the dog on the spit, her belly split open and her baby taken.

But then she recognises Eren’s voice calling her name. The man curses again, retreats to his companions. They cover over their fire with their bodies, their backs turning to fronts again, and as they begin to talk amongst themselves Lisbet follows the dog, the smell of their meat and smoke obscured by the wilting forest once more.

‘Lisbet!’

Eren emerges from the shadows, Ulf running in excited circles around him.

Beside him, Frederich looks asleep on his feet. ‘Thank God,’ he murmurs, rubbing his arm and shifting the drum’s leather strap higher on his slight shoulder, a ring glinting on his little finger. ‘Frau Wiler, tonight I thought to have a night off from moonlit wanderings. I’m going to bed. Again.’

Eren is staring squarely at her, the curl of his black hair blueish in the light, and his hand by his side is clenched tight and loosening, as though he is resisting a call to hit something.

‘What do you mean by it? Coming to the forest?’

He speaks quietly, and she moves closer, around the trees between them, to hear him better.

‘I wanted to walk. The baby was restless.’ His silence stretches, grows eyes and glares. She purses her lips. ‘I may walk if I wish.’

‘Do you not know what happens in these woods?’