Lupin, with her honey hair and meadow-green eyes, with her hollow laugh and her relentless flirting. With her insinuation that she wasn’t looking for marriage but was willing to do other things. Jaren knew if any of his sisters did those other things before marriage, they would be permanently ruined. But then, Lupin was already ruined in the eyes of the townspeople.

Despite the fact that he was surrounded by girls, Jaren found them predictable in one thing and one thing only: their unpredictability. One moment Story would be laughing and joking, and the next, she was angry about something. And worse still, she would refuse to acknowledge that she was angry. Tadpole’s crushes were as fleeting as a summer storm, and Summer, arguably the most even-tempered of the three, was not immune to changes in mood that could leave a man reeling in confusion. And these were the girls he’d grown up with! How could he possibly be expected to understand the motivations of a near stranger?

His mother, on the other hand. His mother he had always understood. She would get angry, of course, but her reasons were never a mystery. He had left his muddy boots by the hearth again, or he’d burned the bread because he was daydreaming, or he’d gone to market for apples and come home with potatoes instead. If she was upset about something, she would excuse herself to go for a walk or retreat to the bedroom she and Father had shared in their old, larger house, and when she came out she was herself again. She’d even offer an explanation of why she’d been upset, if Father couldn’t figure it out on his own. And when Jaren’s sisters were particularly volatile, Mother would tell the men to go make themselves useful, and by the time they returned, everything was right as rain again.

You’re spinning, Jaren, he thought as he meandered down the forest trail. He was so distracted he wasn’t even sure which trail he had taken, but he supposed it didn’t matter, as long as he returned by it when he went back.

Something crossed his path, a low, stealthy creature, most likely a fox. A night bird called somewhere in the distance, and every now and then he would hear something small rustle in the bushes. All typical nighttime forest activity. Less than he’d expect, in fact.

Suddenly, a long, mournful howl raised the hairs on the back of Jaren’s neck. He couldn’t help thinking of the monstrous wolf the townspeople spoke of. He hadn’t even brought a knife with him, he realized. He was as defenseless out here as a loaf of bread.