‘Wolf! This path is being made by wolfses!’

‘W-wolves? Wild ones?’ Lug asked.

‘Of course wild! Do you think they’d be like the dogses you humies keeps for pets? They is much bigger and bitier.’ The kittimew hid behind Liska’s legs, his claws digging into her leather armour.

‘There were always packs of wolves in the forest, I remember,’ Elowen said. ‘And bears and wildcats. They never harmed anyone. Our shapewalkers used their skins for their beast forms.’

‘No offence,’ said Liska, ‘but everything you “remember” so far has turned out to be wrong. The wolves might have been harmless then, but they could have turned into man-eating monsters by now.’

As if to answer her, a distant howl echoed through the forest. Fishbone dug his claws in harder and Lug began to tremble.

Liska knelt, peering down the tunnel into the deep woods beyond. Then she stood and looked back the way they had come, imagining Thresher and her hounds creeping closer with every second.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘I don’t see that we’ve got any choice. It’s go ahead and risk the wolves, or stay here and face Thresher. I know which one I’d rather pick.’

‘Thresher?’ said Fishbone, hopefully.

‘No.’

Wolves were living, breathing, natural creatures. If it came to it, she would rather they were the ones to tear her apart. With Fishbone still stuck to her leg, Liska ducked under the brambles and headed into the forest.

Chapter 10

The path led down, down, through the last crumbling bricks of the city, winding between collapsed houses and the skeletons of staircases, their rickety steps leading up into the treetops.

After an age of cramped stalking, doubled over almost on to all fours, they emerged into the proper forest. Here, the trees were more established and there was space in between their trunks. It was still wild, though, with branches meshed so tightly overhead that only a few chinks of sunlight crept through.

The scent of wolf was everywhere and, now and then, a howl echoed through the trees. It sounded as if they were getting steadily closer.

At one point, Fishbone leapt up to Liska’s shoulders and sat there, curled around her neck, claws pricking her shoulders. Every strand of fur on his body was puffed up and his yellow eyes blazed wide.

‘Careful, cat,’ she said. ‘You’re jabbing me with your needle claws. And you’re blocking my hood. I won’t be able to change shape if you don’t move.’

‘Kittimew. Not cat.’ He spoke through gritted teeth and refused to budge an inch.

Lug and Elowen followed close behind, the ghost girl looking almost luminous in the gloomy, green light. Now she was out of the city, her melancholy seemed to have lifted. She peered into the shadows around her as if she could see treasure gleaming in the depths.