She had to get out of the forest. Right away. Put some distance between herself and Napoleon before her imagination imploded. But she was afraid to take her eyes off the trio and remained fixed to the spot. What if they were like some dogs, who, while a cat stood her ground, wouldn’t chase her, but the moment the feline bolted, would pursue her with ardour?

As she stared at Napoleon, Faye noticed the leaves of the arum lilies behind him shudder. The pale, prickly manes of at least two more pigs flickered against the green foliage as they slid between the plants. What were they doing? Rooting about in the undergrowth or sharpening their tusks? She gasped. Did pigs do that? Was it something her pig-wise school friend told her? Why would she think it otherwise? How many more were there? Was she surrounded by the creatures? If so, she’d have to carefully plan her escape route.

Only a few metres lay between her and the path. But if there were more pigs behind her, she’d have to find a detour. That might pose the additional risk of getting lost. She must stay on the path. She breathed in and looked around, eyes straining to spot any further movement in the shrubbery. If there were any more pigs in the plants, they were well hidden.

Faye turned back to face the gawking hogs. They hadn’t moved. Napoleon’s ear twitched again.

“Right,” she whispered. “Here goes.”

In a single movement, she leaned over, snatched the handles of her backpack and, crashing through the scrub and leaping over logs and branches, scarpered towards the path. Behind her, the pigs snorted and squealed in alarm and, in a flurry of hairy bodies and thwacking trotters, smashed the undergrowth as they fled in the opposite direction.

Even when she realised that the animals were as terrified as she was, Faye continued running until she had left the forest and was back in the open. Out of breath, her legs trembling, she couldn’t recall when last she’d sprinted like that. In fact, she didn’t realise she still had it in her. She stopped and rested her hands on her knees to recover, half laughing and half sobbing.

After she’d turned and checked once more that the pigs had definitely bolted, she looked across the veld. With swathes of restios bending under the weight of their seeds and the flowers of the wild dagga plant rising upwards like naartjies pinned on skewers as far as the eye could see, the plateau calmed her. In the distance, the purple hue of the ericas faded into the faraway foothills. There were no dark shadows to mislead her here and the vegetation didn’t crowd her. Even the clouds, with their dense, darker bottoms, were no longer unsettling.