Varg had taken her right hand. Though she couldn’t feel the contact, she forced her fingers to curl around his.

‘Can I borrow your knife? I didn’t have time to pack one of my own.’

‘Uh, yeah. Sure.’ He passed it over and she took it in her left hand. There were fresh tears glistening in his beard.

The suns hadn’t fully set, but it was dark inside the forest. Any self-respecting Gatherer would be well on their way home, for in the depths of the Wild, things were already stirring.

With the tip of the knife, Chandni drew back the sleeve on her right arm and made two shallow cuts. Then, because there had been a third deal that she’d forgotten to tell Lord Rochant about, she made another. It was small consolation, but there was no pain, and she had to rely on her eyes to be sure she’d broken the skin enough to bring her blood to the surface.

Together, they walked into the Wild. They hadn’t gone far when Glider began to growl softly. ‘Here we go,’ said Varg. ‘Can I have my knife back.’

She passed it to him without comment. He knew as well as she did that a knife wasn’t going to make any difference here.

A Birdkin settled in the trees above. It had the same black feathers as the one in her hair, and multifaceted eyes, that it took turns to study them with, jerking its head from left to right in sudden movements. Another Birdkin came, of the same breed as the first. Then another, then another. They lined up on either side of Chandni, marking out a path through the shadowy trees.

She took it. Sooner or later something would be lured by her blood. She might as well not draw out the agony.

More Birdkin came. The ones further back hopping from tree to tree, gliding after her as new ones appeared ahead. Every so often, one would drop down to peck at the blood that had dripped from her arm into the dirt. They were eerily quiet, and Chandni was reminded of the time she’d called out to the powers of the Wild, and they had stopped to listen.

They’re listening now, she thought, and shivered.

She heard barking from somewhere far away, and recognized Glider’s voice. Whirling round, she found the Dogkin was nowhere to be seen, and that Varg had gone too, her fingers curled around empty air.

‘Varg?’ she called. ‘Glider?’

There was more barking, and perhaps the faintest sound of Varg’s voice, shouting her name, but it was being rolled between distant trees, making it impossible to discern where they were.

Perhaps this is a good thing. They don’t need to die for me. Please, Glider, keep him safe.