She waits a moment, in the middle of the room, waits for some feeling to come to her. Guilt, for the excitement of the time alone with Eren. Fear for their discovery. Missing for Henne. This is the room they have shared since they married, where he put their babies inside her. Nothing. She pulls the door shut behind.

Eren takes the torch, though they barely need it. The moonlight is bright as it was the night before, and she tries to push it from her mind, how it picked out the starving group’s glinting teeth, the blade, the filthy fingernails as they reached for Ulf. She calls the dog forward, nudges him with her knee, glad of his solid weight at her side. Eren is so quiet, she might be alone with Ulf, and she settles into the safety of their silence.

She does not look back, though she wants to, longs to have his face in her sights beneath the bright moon. She could lead them to the river with her eyes closed, but still at the fork where the path could take them to the dance tree, she hesitates.

‘Are you all right?’ He stops close behind, and she feels his breath graze the nape of her neck, a brush soft as a bee’s wing before he recovers his balance and steps back a pace.

There is no one else at the river, though for the first time Lisbet notices signs there might have been – a fresh-turned patch of earth and blunt white stalks broken clean as bones where mushrooms have been pulled, ash at the centre of the clearing. She shrinks back, and Eren passes her, goes with Ulf to the burnt wood and hovers his hand over it.

‘Cold,’ he says, and her hands unclench.

He moves forward on his haunches and ducks his head to the river, washing away the dust with an audible sigh, a visible slump of his shoulders. He wipes his hands over his hair and it runs down his back in long streaks. She turns away and watches the forest as Ulf lies down panting at her feet.

‘Better,’ says Eren, sitting cross-legged. His usual colour is restored, his skin gleaming and beard dripping. ‘The river in the city is clogged. You can smell it for miles. Sometimes . . .’ He trails off, and she guesses the reason for his hesitation.

‘I don’t mind,’ she says. ‘I want to know.’

He nods. ‘Sometimes the fathers or sons of the afflicted hold the dancers down in it, but they only flail harder to be free.’

Lisbet’s gravity shifts. The river smell grows, and the past rises to meet her: she feels soft skin beneath her child’s fingers, clammy and cool. ‘Tell me something else.’

Eren strokes Ulf down the length of his narrow back, sprinkling water on the dog’s head. Ulf places his head on his paws and twitches his eyebrows at him with utter devotion.

‘Else?’

She feels foolish almost instantly, but Eren does not roll his eyes, or fall silent like Henne would. Instead he stops stroking Ulf, and rests back on his hands. ‘Why don’t you tell me something?’