Lightning quick, he darts forward, grabbing Rufus by the arm and hauling him to his feet. He spins Rufus around, pushing him, so that he strikes the ground hard on hands and knees, tears spilling free—no longer just miserable, but terrified.

A shout lodges in her throat. She wants to run to Rufus and help him, but she’s rooted in place, rooted like the boar in front of Peter, no choice but to go along. She looks desperately to the circle of boys, similarly frozen around him. Someone ought to go to Rufus and help him, but no one moves. They are all like toys, she thinks, like puppets, and Peter holds all the strings.

“Snort like a boar, Rufus. Run, and we’ll try to catch you!” Peter dances in place, hopping from foot to foot in his delight.

On the next hop, Peter darts forth, slapping Rufus on the flank so he lets out a frightened squeal, a remarkably animal sound. Rufus tries to scramble away, still on his hands and knees, but feet and legs block his way. The boys move, tentative at first, none of them striking Rufus, only keeping him from escaping. But they grow bolder, aiming kicks, trying to grab him. He crawls frantically, trapped between them, begging them to let him go.

His words slur, clumsy, and she can’t tell whether it’s the tears making them thick or something else. Like the shape of his jaw or tongue might be wrong, like he might suddenly have tusks instead of teeth. Tears start in her own eyes as well, but she can’t move to help him. It is as though a physical force holds her back, a wall keeping her out with the circle of boys on the other side.

She can just see him between their legs, flashes of hair and skin. Rufus’ spine arches terribly as one of the boys grabs his head, wrenching it back, and for a moment her heart refuses to beat. She is certain this is where it will happen, a blade driven home, a knife slit across his throat. She cannot see for crying now, can scarcely catch her breath between choking, hiccupping sobs. This time, there is no mistaking the tortured sound that comes from Rufus over the chaos of the boys. It’s all animal. A scream. It is all fear.

She cannot run toward him, but she can run away, and she does, hating herself as she flees. She fully believes that Peter could compel Rufus, or any of them, to do anything. He could make Rufus believe he is a boar, completely and utterly, make him believe it so strongly that he would become one.