The Gatherers’ footprints stood stark amid the dirt, and among the human ones Sa-at was now shown others that had been there recently, a succession of small round holes, as if someone had poked their fingertips into the dirt again and again.

Spiderkin? wondered Sa-at.

Crowflies gave a twitchy nod. They had dragged the creeper here as a lure. No doubt there was more than just the plant waiting for the Gatherers.

Sa-at made a cage with his fingers. A trap?

Another nod from the Birdkin.

The people with the funny hands will be eaten?

And another.

Sa-at pulled a face. He didn’t like the idea of the people being eaten. He saw Spiderkin all the time but he rarely got to see people. He wanted to see more of them. Maybe there was a way to stop the Spiderkin’s trap …

As soon as he’d had the thought, Crowflies stiffened, unhappy.

‘But,’ protested Sa-at, ‘they’ll die.’

Crowflies gave a shrug of its wings.

He pulled his hand free, sucking the end of it as he stood up.

‘Sa-aat!’

He was being warned not to go.

‘I’m going.’

‘Sa-aat!’

He paused for a moment. Crowflies was his friend, his only real friend in the Wild. The Birdkin had brought him food and drink until he was old enough to hunt. It nursed his injuries, watched his back, taught him. Everywhere Sa-at went, Crowflies was there like a winged shadow. Deep down, he knew it was trying to protect him.

But then he thought of the Spiderkin wrapping the Gatherers in bladesilk. In a week or so he would come by this part of the forest again, and find eight skeletons stripped of everything save the hands and feet.

If he waited another week, the hands and feet would be gone.

The maimed skeletons would hang for a few more after that, and then vanish. Sometimes, much later, he’d see a fragment of bone attached to one of the trees like a trophy, and be certain that he’d seen it before.

His stomach turned a few times and then he started running.

Behind him he heard several squawks and felt the feelings behind them.

‘Sa-aat!’ (Annoyed.)

‘Sa-aat!’ (Go if you want, I’m staying here.)

‘Sa-aat!’ (Exasperated.)

A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he skipped between a tangly mass of bushes. Despite it all, Crowflies would come. It always comes.

The trees gathered closer in this part of the Wild, shutting out the day. Great strands of web ran taught between them. Where it rubbed against the branches, deep grooves were made, red fungus sprouting from it like raw skin. Fat shapes sat within the canopy, their legs bunched together to conceal their true size. Sa-at knew the signs and quickly guessed at their number.

The Gatherers did not.