He took a step towards her as if it was the most natural thing in the world, his foot sinking into the thick mulch of dead leaves and bark that formed the dead zone between Wild and Godroad.

Crowflies continued to sing.

He would run to her. If he were quick, he could reach the wagon before it went past.

The woman on the wagon raised a tentative hand.

Sa-at went to do the same, just as Tal returned and grabbed his shoulders.

‘Get down!’ he hissed.

Before Sa-at could reply, he was pushed face first into the thick muddy dirt.

It was the strangest sight. Her Satyendra was standing there. Right there! He was wrapped in black feathers like the one that grew from the back of her head, and his long hair was blowing in the wind.

‘Varg, we have to stop.’

‘What’s up?’

‘Look, it’s my Satyendra. Look!’ Varg turned to her, concern written into his lined face. ‘No, not at me, over there.’ She pointed, and Varg dutifully followed her finger.

‘There’s nothing there.’

‘Yes there is, there’s—’ She stopped talking. Varg was right, there was nothing but trees as far as the eye could see. ‘But he was right there.’

‘He can’t be, Chand. He’s dead.’

For a moment, she fought the truth of what he was saying, so strong was the feeling in her heart. The facts were relentless, however: Satyendra was dead, and that long hair that she loved so much had been cut away by her own hand. It could not be him. This is the Wild’s doing. It is playing tricks on me. The last time she had come here, it had been the Whispercage that lurked on the periphery of her vision. Now it seemed the ghost of her son had taken its place.

The Godroad was quiet and calm. She’d been bracing herself for the black feather to turn to ash or burst into flames, taking her hair with it, but nothing had happened. She didn’t understand how the taint had caused Satyendra so much pain and yet done nothing to her. Surely I am just as corrupted as he was?

They travelled on for a time. It occurred to her that she’d never specified exactly where she wanted to go, and Varg hadn’t asked. The truth was, she didn’t know, but hoped she would when she saw it.

One of Varg’s arms was over her shoulder, and one of hers around his waist, clamping them together by mutual assent. He was solid, something she could hold onto. During Lord Rochant’s absence, she had been the one to keep order, and she had done so alone.

It is so good to be held. I wish I could stay this way forever.