Summer and Story had gone to a dance in a neighboring village, and Father was visiting with his friend Klaus, the one who had invited the family to Bricklebury. Tadpole, who was giddy with excitement at finally breaking free of her prison, gripped Jaren’s arm tightly as they walked into the village. She wouldn’t be the youngest person at the pub, he knew. But he also knew that she had the energy and common sense of a chipmunk. He would have to keep a close eye on her the whole night.

Sure enough, Tadpole had quickly set her sights on an older boy, one Jaren already knew by reputation was something of a bully. While he drank his pint, he kept one eye on his sister, the other on Lars, who claimed he, too, had spotted the massive wolf.

“You saw it yourself?” Jaren asked, not sure if he should be impressed or concerned.

“Well, I didn’t see the wolf so much as its tracks. But they were gargantuan. As big as my plow horse’s hooves.”

“Maybe it’s not a wolf,” Jaren said. “Maybe it’s some kind of bear.”

Lars shook his head, and Jaren had the distinct impression his hair was waggling like an accusatory finger. “I know bear tracks. These weren’t bear tracks.”

Before Jaren could apologize, he heard a squeak and turned to see the bully, Merritt, attempting to pull Tadpole in for a kiss. He set his pint down, ignoring the ale that sloshed onto his hand, and pushed through the crowd. He should never have left her to her own devices, but he found himself drawn in by Lars’s stories, the so-called wolf and the poison lake, in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Get your hands off my sister,” he shouted, but she had already managed to knee Merritt in the unmentionables. Tears streaked her face, and Jaren tucked her under his arm. “What are you thinking?” he demanded. “She’s fifteen!”

Merritt finally managed to straighten to his full height, which was a good six inches taller than Jaren’s. “She flirted with me.”

“She’s fifteen!” Jaren repeated, because surely that was all the explanation necessary.

“She’s a tease,” Merritt spat. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Tadpole shrugged out from under her brother’s arm. “I have every right to be here. Maybe you shouldn’t be here, if you can’t handle your drink!”

A few other villagers chuckled, and Merritt’s already ruddy face turned a darker shade of mauve. “Get out! Now, before I thrash the both of you.”

Jaren knew his own limits, and there was no way he was fighting Merritt. “Come on,” he said to Tadpole. “Let’s go home.”

She started to protest, but he gripped her firmly by the arm and led her through the parted crowd. They were almost to the door when she turned.