“The boar! Everyone gather round.”

There’s laughter now, boys falling over each other, elbowing and jostling and getting in each other’s way. She isn’t certain how the boar got in front of them again when Peter was clearly leading them the wrong way, but there it is—bristled hide, wickedly curving tusk, beady, evil-looking eyes. She’s never seen a boar up close before, and it looks so much bigger than she ever imagined. How, with all the shouting and chaos, have they not frightened it away? Any animal with an ounce of sense would flee rather than stand and be killed.

The mass of boys, running and shouting, spills into a clearing. Even then the boar doesn’t move. Curious despite herself, she joins the crowd, standing on her toes to see over the heads of the boys in front of her. The earth is pounded flat in a near-perfect round, closed in on all sides by trees. The boys spread to the edges, forming a perimeter with their bodies, leaving Peter and the boar facing each other in the middle.

It feels deliberate, like she’s sitting in the audience at a play. Only instead of a stage there’s only the ground, and Peter in the center, the sun beaming on him like a spotlight.

Her skin flushes hot and cold as Peter circles the boar. It’s almost a dance. She strains to get a better view and at the same time, she doesn’t want to see what will happen next.

Dread fills her. Peter waves the short sword he’s been carrying, like it’s a baton and he’s conducting an orchestra. The way the blade catches the light, glinting, makes her realize for the first time that it’s a real sword, not a makeshift thing carved from wood. Peter leaps forward, feinting, yelling as if he expects the boar to challenge him. But the boar remains utterly still, haunches up, head down, almost like it’s bowing.

“Run.” She turns to Timothy, teeth clenched around the word.

He gapes up at her. Something terrible is coming, like a storm waiting to break.

“Hide. I’ll come find you, I promise.”

Timothy turns, pelting away. She watches him go before dragging her gaze back to Peter. The circle of earth, the way the boar remains perfectly still, all of it is unnatural. It’s not just the boar though, it’s everything—the silent boys, their expressions solemn and watching. It’s not war she thinks of now, but something like being in church with her grandfather—a ritual, solemn and terrible and centuries old.