‘I picked it up and we …’ his eyes took on a faraway look ‘… connected. Despite its grievous injuries. It was the last of its kind, an exile, and I was a misfit in Veren, too clever for my own good. We found something in each other that our own people couldn’t give us. True friendship.’

I want that too! thought Sa-at.

‘In those few hours I broke nearly every rule of the road-born. I’d gone into the Wild alone. I’d approached a demon. Listened to it. Touched it. And I’d offered to help it. Much like your Crowflies, it didn’t need words to tell me what it wanted: blood. It asked for my blood and I gave without question. Actually the problem wasn’t one of inhibition but practicality.’

‘What’s a “bishion”?’

‘I mean I didn’t care about the risk to my soul or the judgement of my elders. The only thing I was scared of was being discovered, or not being clever enough to keep my new friend alive.

‘Even though the forest was quiet, I bled myself on the Godroad just to be safe, using skins I’d stolen from our Cutter-crafter. I still needed to get the blood inside it, and my new friend had no mouth. To feed it, I had to rub blood over its body and into the cracks by hand, dripping what was left into its neck. Inspired by what I’d seen of the Flykin in the forest, I used my own skin to cover the hole in its face.’ His mouth twitched then became blank, the expression banished before Sa-at could identify it. ‘Have you ever tried to cut away a slice of your own skin?’

Sa-at shook his head. The idea made his stomach churn.

‘It’s hard. Much harder than drawing off some blood. Even a small scrap leaves a wound. And it hurts. It hurts so much I still remember it to this day. The hardest part was having to do it alone, in secret. The others wouldn’t understand. If they’d found out, I’d have been killed and my friend destroyed.’ He glanced up, making eye contact. ‘But you understand, don’t you?’

Sa-at swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He did understand. He would give of himself to help Crowflies, just as he had to help Tal and Rochant with the oak. And yet he had to force himself to answer, because it also felt as if there were things he did not understand, and if he agreed with Rochant, he was saying yes to those things too.

Rochant seemed relaxed, patient, but the pressure to speak grew nonetheless.

‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘You are friends with demons and humans. I am friends with demons and humans. We can be friends with both.’

A crinkle appeared around the man’s eyes again. He likes my words. Sa-at smiled. I like that he likes my words.