‘Do you think the wolves are getting nearer?’ she asked. ‘I’d love to see one up close. They’re such beautiful animals.’

‘I’m sure you’ll get a good look when there’s one chewing your face off,’ said Lug.

Liska picked up the pace, keeping an eye on the dark gaps between the trees. It wasn’t long before she saw movement. And then twin, glowing pinpricks that gleamed back at her, leaving trails in the murk as they moved. Eyes. Wolf eyes.

‘They’re here,’ she said in a low voice. Another howl sounded, this one close enough to make them all jump.

‘Wh-what are they doing?’ Lug had moved so close behind her, he was practically riding on her back as well.

‘Circling us,’ said Liska. ‘Trying to see what kind of threat we are.’

‘Are they g-going to attack?’

‘Not here. Too many trees. They’ll wait until we’re more in the open.’ Again, Liska couldn’t say how she knew these things. It was part of the animal mind that they all shared. The dim memories of ancestors that had once run through the woods chasing down prey. Except in shapewalkers like Liska, those instincts were only half buried.

‘Th-this is an open space,’ Lug said, his voice squeaking. They had stumbled between two pine trees into a broad, church-like clearing. Branches met overhead like a vaulted ceiling, blocking out sun and sound. It was dark, ominous, empty.

But only for a moment.

From the edge of the treeline all around them, creatures stepped out of the shadows. Sleek grey wolves, big cats with dappled fur, hulking wild boars like barrels with legs. Hunkered down, ready to charge, they inched closer. Pad, pad, pad. They moved without taking their eyes off Liska for a second until, at some silent signal, they froze.

All except their leader. Striding through their ranks, towering over all of them, came a black bear, his thick coat rippling as he walked, long claws raking the forest floor. His eyes shone bright green, cutting through the murk like twin lanterns, and his mouth was full of gleaming teeth. Long as knives. Shining white like blades made of moonlight. He carried on moving, rearing up on his hind legs as he reached Liska, who tensed, ready for battle.

There is a small part of the brain that takes over when danger looms. It gives you two options: fight like hell or run for your life. Inside Fishbone’s furry little head, that ancient underbrain took over, and it chose to fight.

Without warning, he launched from Liska’s neck, hissing like a boiling kettle. A ball of electric fur and whizzing claws, he hit the bear’s head and stuck there, yowling and scratching until the beast shook him off.